Arthur Goes Fourth IV: The Fern of the Screw
by Dead Composer
Summary: Fern sees dead people!
1. Sad Tidings

This fic is rated PG due to scary content. No slash this time around.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Marc Brown's Arthur characters, or anything else that belongs to Marc Brown.  
  
"Arthur Goes Fourth IV: The Fern of the Screw" is the latest chapter in my ongoing, interminable AGF series. Some of the characters in this story are original, and were introduced in the earlier AGF installments. So it may help if you have read those, but it isn't mandatory.  
  
----  
  
They kissed in the doorway, embracing each other tightly, like two lovers who had been separated for years. Snowflakes descended slowly upon Nigel Ratburn's uncovered head and bulky winter coat, but he paid no heed. The object of his affection, a young Costa Rican woman named Carla Fuente, finally pulled her lips away, but only because she felt compelled to speak.  
  
"You've made peace with your sister?" she asked hopefully. She was dressed in a camisole and satin pants, and her long brown hair was somewhat unkempt.  
  
Mr. Ratburn lowered his hands and backed away from Carla slightly. "I'm prepared to make things right between myself and Angela," he said with a tone of formality.  
  
Carla smiled, as if a happy, recurring dream had finally come true.  
  
"I know now that I can never love another woman," Mr. Ratburn continued, his voice filled with passion. "I'll do anything to be with you. But...you're asking me to open a Pandora's Box. You may regret it."  
  
Carla stared at him with fixed determination. Nigel, his expression one of shame and resignation, turned and slowly shuffled away from the entrance to the brownstone apartment.  
  
----  
  
"Never saw the sun shining so bright  
  
Never saw things going so right,  
  
Noticing the days hurrying by  
  
When you're in love, my how they fly."  
  
Fern belted out the concluding words of the Irving Berlin song, Arthur lifted his hands from the piano, Francine laid down her drumsticks, and Alan rested the end of his cello bow on the floor. Van Cooper, seated in his wheelchair in the Read living room, clapped wildly. Next to him sat Sue Ellen, who slapped her knee repeatedly with her right hand, due to the fact that her left arm was in a cast and sling.  
  
"That was really good, guys," Van commended them.  
  
"Now once more, with feeling," Sue Ellen ordered.  
  
In the kitchen, Mr. Read was wearing his chef's hat and apron as he mixed the ingredients for his next perfect souffle. Mrs. Read was feeding strained carrots to Kate, who gurgled happily in her high chair. Pal lay in a corner, holding his paws over his ears and grimacing. D.W. sat at the table, clutching a pink crayon and carefully filling in the lines of a Mary Moo Cow coloring book.  
  
She looked up at her mother. "Mom, can I go see them when they play with Wynton Molasses?"  
  
"Yes, you can," Mrs. Read answered. "And it's Wynton Marsalis. And they're not playing with him. They're going to play in the lobby before his concert."  
  
"I wish Yo Mama would come back," said D.W. enthusiastically. "He's really cool."  
  
"That's Yo-Yo Ma," Mrs. Read corrected her.  
  
Mrs. Read fished out another spoonful of strained carrots, then glimpsed something disturbing through the kitchen window. She set down the spoon and jumped to her feet. "Oh, my goodness!"  
  
"What?" Mr. Read turned his head to look out the window, and gasped.  
  
"I'll go check it out," said Mrs. Read. Grabbing her brown coat from the rack, she threw it on hastily and hurried through the front door...and in the direction of the Tibble house, where an ambulance with lights flashing had just pulled up to the curb.  
  
About ten minutes passed. Mr. Read and D.W. periodically glanced out the kitchen window, curious as to the nature of the medical emergency. When they saw two paramedics carrying a stretcher with a covered, immobile person on it, Mr. Read grabbed his daughter's hand and led her out the front door.  
  
About five more minutes went by.  
  
"I can't give you anything but love, baby," sang Fern with a vacuous grin. "That's the one thing I've got plenty of..."  
  
She stopped in mid-stanza when Mrs. Read stepped into the living room, clutching the Tibble twins, Tommy and Timmy, in her arms. She was followed closely by Mr. Read and D.W. Arthur ceased from playing when he saw the distraught expressions of his parents and the tear-stained faces of the Tibble boys. Alan and Francine quickly followed suit.  
  
"What is it, Mom?" asked Arthur.  
  
"What's wrong, Mrs. Read?" Van inquired.  
  
The aardvark woman bent her knees and placed Tommy and Timmy on the floor. Then she straightened up and spoke solemnly.  
  
"Mrs. Tibble has passed away."  
  
(To be continued...) 


	2. Fern Hears Something

Fern, Arthur, Francine, Alan, Sue Ellen, and Van gasped when they heard the dreadful news.  
  
"Not Grandma Tibble!" cried Francine.  
  
"She wasn't that old!" exclaimed Alan.  
  
"How did she die?" asked Sue Ellen.  
  
"They think it was a heart attack," Mrs. Read answered.  
  
Timmy put his hand over his chest. "She put her hand like this," he recounted, "and then she fell over."  
  
"Then we raced each other to the phone to call 911," Tommy added. "I got there first."  
  
Having said that, the boys began to cry bitterly. Fern sank to her knees and put her arms around them, whispering words of comfort.  
  
"I never met Grandma Tibble," said Van. "Dallin says she's really nice, and she gives out milk and cookies."  
  
"Chocolate chip peanut butter," Arthur chimed in. "The best in the world."  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Read collapsed onto the couch, and D.W. climbed into her mother's lap. "What about Tommy and Timmy?" she asked in a worried tone.  
  
"Yeah, what about them?" asked Francine as she stood up from her drum kit. "Where are their parents? Do they even have parents?"  
  
"Their mother's probably having a good time traveling the world," Sue Ellen remarked.  
  
Fern, still clutching the twins, narrowed her eyes and spoke indignantly. "She hasn't wasted all the money from her divorce yet. I bet she won't even come back for them."  
  
"Don't talk like that in front of the boys," Mr. Read admonished her.  
  
"She's so irresponsible!" Fern complained.  
  
"That's enough," said Mr. Read sternly.  
  
"The important thing," said Mrs. Read, "is that we find someone to take care of the boys until their mother, or some other relative, arrives. That may take a day or two."  
  
Fern rose to her feet. "I'll do it, Mrs. Read," she offered.  
  
"Yeah!" Tommy wiped his tears and grinned. "We want Fern to babysit us."  
  
"She tells the scariest stories," said Timmy.  
  
"You're braver than I am," said Arthur, pushing himself up from the piano bench.  
  
Mr. Read slowly rose from the couch. "First of all, let's get some food in their stomachs. How long has it been since you boys ate?"  
  
"Like that makes any difference," Francine butted in.  
  
"I'm making a souffle," said Mr. Read, smiling.  
  
"Oh, yeah! We like slouffe!" Timmy enthused. Mr. Read walked toward the kitchen, and the twins chased after him.  
  
Mrs. Read, with D.W. still wiggling in her lap, gave Fern a tired but grateful look. "After we've had some dinner, then you can take the boys to their house, and tell them scary stories, or tie them up with duct tape, or whatever it is you do to keep them from getting in trouble. Just don't say bad things about their mother in front of them, okay?"  
  
"Yes, Mrs. Read," said Fern meekly.  
  
"And don't forget to call your parents and tell them where you are," Mrs. Read added.  
  
"Can I go too, Mom?" asked Arthur. "I'll bet I can tell scarier stories than Fern."  
  
"I don't know about that," said Francine. "I still remember Fern's story about the platinum dragon."  
  
"Yeah, but you never heard my story about..." Arthur held up his arms menacingly. "...THE SWAMP THING!"  
  
"All right, Arthur, you can go," said Mrs. Read. "But don't scare them too much. They've been through enough already."  
  
----  
  
"AAAARRGGHH!" Tommy and Timmy screamed in terror and wrapped their arms around each other.  
  
"And then," recounted the wide-eyed Fern, "after the giant snake had swallowed the two scientists whole, they began to...digest!" She started to make sucking noises with her lips.  
  
"Ewww!" The Tibble boys grimaced with disgust.  
  
"Soon there was nothing left but their bones," Fern went on. "And the giant snake couldn't digest the bones, so it vomited them out! Bleeeaaagh! The end."  
  
"That was...really...scary, Fern," said Tommy, whose knees were quivering.  
  
"Tell another one," said Timmy, who was shaking from head to toe.  
  
Fern sat down on the hardwood floor of the Tibble living room. As Arthur rose to his feet, he motioned toward the suit of medieval armor that stood next to the front door.  
  
"I went to a museum once," he began, "and I saw a suit of armor just like that one. In fact, there were a whole bunch of them. They had swords, and maces, and axes..."  
  
"Were they empty, like that one?" asked Timmy.  
  
"No," Arthur replied. "I thought they were empty, up until I got locked in the museum overnight, and found out that...somebody was inside of them!"  
  
As Arthur described his fictional museum adventure to the boys, Fern suddenly perked up her ears. "Quiet," she half-whispered. "Do you hear that?"  
  
"This is my story, Fern," said Arthur.  
  
"No, I hear something!" Fern's ears flopped about as she waved her head from side to side. "Someone's in the house besides us!"  
  
Leaping to her feet, she hurried across the room to a mildewed wooden door that appeared to not have been opened for a long time. Pressing the side of her head against it, she listened carefully.  
  
"That goes to the cellar," Timmy informed her. "Grandma doesn't let us go down there."  
  
Pulling her head away from the door, Fern grasped the rusted brass handle with both hands. With some effort she succeeded in opening the old, creaking door wide enough to permit a child to pass.  
  
"I, uh, don't think you should go in there," Arthur warned her.  
  
"Stay here," Fern said to him. She then slipped through the doorway and disappeared into the blackness.  
  
The first thing she noticed was a strong smell of mothballs. The corridor was almost completely dark, except for a few weak glimmers of outside light that crept through slits in the walls. Nervous but determined, she took a few steps forward...and her face made contact with a gigantic cobweb.  
  
"Oh!" Sputtering, she frantically brushed the strands of spider silk from her face. She felt a sensation of something with many legs crawling along her upper lip and into her mouth. She spit several times, then swallowed. For all she knew, the creature had gone down her throat.  
  
Undaunted, Fern raised her hands in front of her face and took several more hesitant steps forward. The floor underneath her feet gave way to what seemed to be a staircase. She carefully descended, and the wooden steps creaked loudly as if they would break under the pressure.  
  
After walking down about twenty steps and pushing aside a comparable number of cobwebs, she rounded a corner and found herself in a large room with a low stone ceiling. She couldn't understand how any grownup, even a short one like Grandma Tibble, could maneuver in this place. In the dim light she saw elaborate spiderwebs adorning every wall. The room was filled with trunks and old furniture, much of which was in a state of decay as a result of the stagnant moisture covering the floor. Various small articles of clothing were lying and rotting where they had probably been dropped decades earlier.  
  
"Is anybody here?" Fern called out. There was no answer, not even an echo. From the living room overhead, she could hear Arthur regaling the twins with his tale of mystery and horror.  
  
She walked slowly toward the middle of the room, and was soon surrounded by old trunks, several of which were not fully closed and had fabric hanging out of them. Standing in front of her was an ancient dresser with a large, broken upright mirror attached to the top. She strained to see her reflection in the darkness.  
  
Then something appeared in the mirror. Something was behind her...  
  
She turned quickly. She had never seen anything like it...a mass of luminous, yellow mist, swirling and pulsating, fully visible in spite of the almost complete lack of light. And it was moving toward her.  
  
Fern tried to cry out, but fear had left her speechless. The strange mist surrounded her...blinded her...  
  
...and suddenly vanished. Fern finally managed to scream. She screamed again.  
  
She heard rapid footsteps from the room above. "Fern? Fern?" came Arthur's worried voice.  
  
Fern's heart seemed to be hurling itself against her ribcage. She struggled to calm herself. "I'm...I'm all right," she stammered.  
  
But somehow she felt that she wasn't all right. Something had changed...  
  
(To be continued...) 


	3. Introducing Mavis

"It was, like, this yellow mist," said Fern to her warmly dressed friends, who were gathered in front of the entrance to Lakewood Elementary. A few snowflakes floated aimlessly from the sky and landed on Arthur, Prunella, Marina, Alan, and George as they listened intently to Fern's description of her experience in the Tibble cellar. 

"It could have been a ghost," George suggested. The moose boy wore a blue wool cap, and his antlers protruded through two small holes in the sides. Nobody quite understood how he was able to put it on his head.

"Don't be silly," Fern responded. "Ghosts aren't real. Isn't that right, Prunella?"

"Uh, yeah, that's right," replied Prunella with a noticeable lack of conviction.

"But if ghosts aren't real," said Marina, "then what happens to people after they die?"

"They go to heaven, of course," Fern answered.

"Unless you're bad," said Arthur. "Then you go to the other place. Nickelodeon."

An old Buick pulled aside the curb next to the kids, and Odette climbed out and commenced the morning ritual of unfolding Van's wheelchair and helping the boy into it.

"There's another possibility," Alan postulated. "You say the cellar looked like nobody had been there for years. Maybe some gases had built up, and you ignited them just by rubbing your foot against the floor."

"I hadn't thought of that," said Fern.

As the kids discussed the incident, a red-haired hamster girl with glasses walked up to them and gazed at Marina with interest. "Excuse me," she said politely, "you're Muffy's friends, correct?"

"Er, yes, we are," said Arthur. "My name's Arthur Read."

Marina stuck out her hand and continued to stare directly ahead. "My name's Marina. What's yours?"

"You must be the telepathic one," said the hamster girl.

"Not anymore." Marina lowered her hand. "I lost my powers a long time ago."

"Are you a friend of Muffy's?" asked Alan. Van rolled up next to him and regarded the strange girl curiously.

"Oh, forgive me for not introducing myself," said the girl. "My name's Mavis Cutler. I'm in Muffy's class at Uppity Downs."

Alan became awestruck. "You're...a student at Uppity Downs?"

"You have to be super rich to go there," George remarked.

"Yes, so they say," said Mavis wearily.

"Oh, I remember," said Van. "Mr. Wald said an Uppity Downs student was going to take Beat's place in our class today."

----

"A new student is joining us for the day," Mr. Pryce-Jones announced to his assembled pupils in the fourth-grade classroom of Uppity Downs Academy. "Muffy, why don't you do the honors of introducing your friend."

Muffy rose from her desk and gestured proudly toward Beat Simon, who sat in the desk to her right. "This is my good friend Beatrice. She goes to my old school, Lakewood Elementary."

"Call me Beat," said Beatrice, grinning sheepishly. "That's my nickname."

Mr. Pryce-Jones gazed at Beat and scratched his cheek thoughtfully. "London," he muttered. "Not far from Piccadilly, I'd say."

Beat's grin disappeared.

"My specialty is linguistics," said the bespectacled teacher. "I've made many trips to England, and made friends from all levels of English society. England is a land rich in history and culture, and you should be proud of your heritage."

"Indeed I am, sir," said Beat, smiling.

"Beatrice Margaret Simon," announced Mr. Pryce-Jones. "Better known to you as Beat. Say hello to Beat, everyone."

"Hello, Beat," intoned the students.

"Mavis Cutler will join us again tomorrow," the teacher went on. "Today she is attending Lakewood Elementary as part of an exchange that my former pupil Nigel Ratburn and I arranged. By the end of the day, I imagine she will gain a greater appreciation of the advantages we enjoy here at Uppity Downs."

----

As she entered Mr. Wald's classroom, Mavis pulled off her overcoat to reveal an expensive-looking gray silk blouse. Arthur, George, and Van came in after her, and the seated kids, including Francine, Binky, Sue Ellen, and Fern, gazed curiously at the finely-attired new girl. She took a seat between Binky and Sue Ellen, and began to chat with them.

"What did you do to your arm?" Mavis asked Sue Ellen.

"I was in a plane crash in Africa, and I broke it," Sue Ellen replied.

"Oh...Africa," Mavis mused. "I've always wanted to go there."

"I've been all over Africa," Sue Ellen continued. "My dad's a diplomat."

"How exciting," said Mavis. "My dad's a banker." She turned to Binky. "What about you?"

"Uh, my dad works in, er, securities," Binky answered. "Yeah, that's it. Securities."

"He's a prison guard," Sue Ellen explained. Mavis chuckled.

Mr. Wald rose from his desk and called the class to order. "Kids, we have a visitor today. This is Mavis Cutler, who attends Uppity Downs Academy."

Mavis slipped out of her desk and confidently strode to the front of the room.

"As he said, my name's Mavis Cutler. I'm a fourth-grader at Uppity Downs. I'm in the same class as Muffy Crosswire, who you all know. I like a lot of different things, but my favorite thing in the world is classical literature. My dad works in the banking industry, and my mom is a doctor."

Francine leaned over to Arthur. "I'll bet she's even richer than Muffy," she whispered.

George raised his hand. "Can we have a ride in your limo?" he asked Mavis.

Fern followed with another comment. "Want to go shopping after school? I could really use some new clothes."

As Mavis fielded the kids' questions, Arthur fantasized about what the girl's home life must be like. He pictured Mr. Cutler as an overweight hamster man in a pinstripe suit, with a huge Cuban cigar dangling from his mouth. The man sat in a plush office chair behind a pine desk littered with financial reports.

"You tell Mr. Greenspan that I don't care how sluggish the economy is," he spoke into his cell phone. "Interest rates stay where they are."

As he ended his call, Mavis ran into the study and stood before his desk. "Dad! Dad!" she said anxiously. "Can I buy the Backstreet Boys?"

Mr. Cutler pulled the cigar from his mouth and looked at Mavis condescendingly. "You've got plenty of classical recordings to listen to," he grumbled. "You don't need any of that boy band rubbish."

"No, Dad," said Mavis. "I want...to buy...the Backstreet Boys."

Her father grinned from ear to ear. "Oh, I see. Sure, go right ahead. While you're at it, why don't you rename them 'The Small Potatoes'?"

Not far away, Van was daydreaming about Mavis' mother and the nature of her work as a doctor. He imagined sitting in his wheelchair in a brightly lit laboratory, surrounded by news reporters and scientists in white smocks. Mrs. Cutler, also wearing a smock, approached him and placed a blue pill in his hand.

"This is it," she said expectantly. "The first test of my super-duper spinal cord repair medicine."

Van quickly swallowed the pill, and within a few seconds felt a tingling sensation pass through his legs. Ecstatic, he leaped to his feet and took several halting steps. "It works! I can walk!" he cried with joy, as the reporters' cameras flashed all about him.

A man wearing a suit and tie approached Mrs. Cutler. "Congratulations on your success, Dr. Cutler," he said. "The government has decided to award you a grant of one billion dollars and several small Pacific islands to continue your research."

When Van awoke from his reverie, he noticed that Mr. Wald had already started to deliver his geography lesson.

"Can anyone tell me which U.S. state capitol has the highest population?" he asked the students.

Mavis' hand flew up. "Phoenix, Arizona," she stated, "with a population of 1.3 million people."

"Very good, Mavis," said the teacher, "although I expected nothing less."

Francine looked at Mavis enviously. "She's cute, rich,_and_ smart," shesaid to herself. "I'm glad she's only here for a day."

----

"As you exit the room, please pick up your graded science tests from yesterday," said Mr. Pryce-Jones, motioning toward the stack of papers lying on his desk.

The kids in his fourth-grade class rose from their seats and politely formed a line leading to the teacher's desk, with Muffy at the very end.

"I am so not looking forward to this," groaned Muffy to Beat, who stood next to her.

"Come now, how bad can it be?" Beat said to her. "You're the genius behind Blinded by Science, after all."

The line quickly whittled down, and Muffy saw her test lying alone on the desk with a large letter F written in red ink on the top. Also in red ink were written the words, "Please talk to me after school today."

Muffy sighed hopelessly. "Oh, that's how bad it can be," Beat observed.

Crumpling the test in her hand, Muffy walked slowly and sadly toward the classroom door. As Beat followed after her, Mr. Pryce-Jones called out her name. "Do you have a minute?" he asked.

Beat turned and smiled, eager to know what this brilliant instructor wanted to discuss with her.

"You're a very smart girl," Mr. Pryce-Jones began. "I believe you would fit in very well here."

"Thank you, sir."

Mr. Pryce-Jones removed his spectacles and began to wipe them with a handkerchief from his pocket. "Tell me, Beatrice," he said with a casual tone, "what's your opinion of the Blair administration?"

----

Morning recess arrived, and Muffy found Beat sitting in a swing in the Uppity Downs playground. The rabbit-aardvark girl was grinning vacuously and staring into space, as if her mind had been transported to another realm. She didn't seem to notice Muffy's arrival.

Muffy took a seat in the swing next to her. "So, what do you think?" she asked glibly.

Beat, still grinning, slowly turned her head.

"I think...I think I'm in love..."

(To be continued...)


	4. Binky the Doofus

At roughly the same time, Fern and George were sitting across from each other at a table next to the playground, discussing Grandma Tibble's unfortunate demise. 

"I feel sorry for Tommy and Timmy," Fern lamented. "Their mom will probably leave them in a basket on the doorstep of her nearest relative."

George nodded sadly. "Who is their nearest relative, anyway?"

"I don't know," Fern replied. "You know, sometimes I wish I could adopt those boys. I think I could do a better job of raising them."

George opened his mouth to respond, but closed it when he saw MollyMcDonald walking toward his table, wearing a dark yellow coat and an even darker scowl. He knew instantly that a dire fate awaited him.

The tough rabbit girl looked at Fern, who could feel her heart turning to jelly. "You don't want to see this," Molly told her.

Nervously, Fern rose from the table, grabbed her book bag, and walked away as quickly as she could.

George swallowed as Molly's shadow cast a pall over him.

"So, you think my new coat makes me look like an iguana, do you?" she said with a grim, menacing tone.

The moose boy felt drops of sweat forming on his brow. "Uh, n-no, I didn't say that," he stammered. "B-but now that you mention it..."

Molly snarled as George silently regretted his lack of skill at choosing words.

Simultaneously, Binky was leading Mavis Cutler on a tour of Lakewood and its amenities, starting with the playground. Nearby, Arthur and Alan leaped into puddles and sent cold water spraying everywhere, while Francine and Sue Ellen enjoyed themselves on the seesaw, Sue Ellen gripping the handle firmly with her good hand.

"This is the playground," Binky announced, waving his arm dramatically. "Swings, slides, jungle gym, seesaw, and that thing that goes around and around until you puke."

"We have more or less the same thing at Uppity Downs," Mavis pointed out.

Her eyes wandered to the opposite end of the playground, where she saw George still seated at his table, while the standing Molly shook her fist in front of his face.

"Now there's something we don't have," said Mavis as she started to walk in the direction of the disturbance.

Binky put a restraining hand on her shoulder. "Uh, you don't want to go that way," he warned.

"Why not?" asked Mavis naively.

While Binky strained to think of a convincing reason, Mavis wiggled free from his hand and continued walking toward George and Molly.

"If you ever insult me again," Molly was saying as Mavis approached her, "I'll pop you like a pimple, you understand that?"

Mavis cleared her throat. "Excuse me." Molly lowered her fist and looked at the strange girl, somewhat taken aback by her politeness. Binky walked up alongside Mavis, a worried look on his face.

"Your aggressive behavior and humble attire suggest that you come from an environment of poverty and violence," said Mavis as if she were reciting from a textbook. "Bullying is a natural and expected outcome, but you have the freedom to choose a different outcome. I recommend that you enroll in an anger management course."

Molly, Binky, and George gaped at the girl in disbelief. What little Binky had understood of her words sounded to him very much like, "I want to know what death is, and I want you to show me."

A few seconds passed, and Molly seemed to calm down. She turned to Binky. "Is this girl your friend?" she asked him.

"Uh...uh..." Binky seemed afraid to commit to an answer.

"I said, is she your friend?" Molly repeated.

"Well...uh..."

Tired of waiting for a response, Molly lunged at Mavis and knocked her over. The girl landed on her back in an icy puddle. The freezing water soaked her skirt, crept through her jacket onto her blouse, and--worst of all--drenched her book bag. She wallowed in the puddle for several moments before she could push herself into a sitting position.

"Why did you do that?" she snapped at Molly.

The rabbit girl looked down at her and grinned. "Well, what do you know. I'm not angry anymore." She then turned on her heel and walked off.

The embarrassed-looking Binky bent over and offered his hand to Mavis, who had laid her dripping wet bag in her lap and was gazing dolefully at it. "My books are ruined," she whimpered.

"I guess I should have warned you," said George as Binky lifted Mavis to her feet. "While you're here, don't mess with Molly."

The unhappy hamster girl opened her bag, pulled out a moistened paperback copy of Twain's "A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court", and groaned. "I've had this copy since I was in first grade."

Binky's tone became apologetic. "Oh, Mavis, I'm sorry. I'm such a doofus."

"What's a doofus?" asked Mavis.

"Uh..." Binky stupidly put a finger to his mouth. "A doofus is a big, dumb, stupid, uh, doofus."

Mavis flipped through the pages of her Twain book, sadly examining the rings left behind by the muddy water.

"Can't you, like, buy a new copy?" asked Binky. "I mean, you're rich, and all."

Mavis sighed impatiently. "You're such a doofus."

Shame filled Binky's heart. After struggling to think of something to say in his defense, he gave up, turned, and walked away.

George stood up from the table and put an arm around Mavis' shoulder. "Sorry about all this," he said comfortingly. "Binky and Molly have been friends for a long time. Binky used to be just like her. I was the one he always picked on."

Mavis watched bitterly as Binky, his head bowed, walked through the entrance into the school building. "I guess he doesn't want to be associated with someone like me," she muttered.

----

Later that day, Muffy entered Mr. Pryce-Jones' classroom to find the teacher sitting at his desk and talking to Beat, who sat in a chair nearby, grinning moronically.

"I consider your mother's novels to be in the same category with the Henry Skreever and Ring of the Gourds books," he was saying. "They're all right for getting children interested in reading, but I think that no child over the age of eight should waste time with them."

"Yes, Mr. Pryce-Jones," said Beat in a blissful tone of voice.

Muffy tapped on her shoulder. "Are you coming to lunch, or not?"

"Yes, Mr. Pryce-Jones," Beat repeated mindlessly.

Somehow she managed to climb down from her chair without changing her vacuous expression one whit. She mumbled semi-deliriously as she followed Muffy out of the classroom and into the corridor.

"Such a beautiful name. Pryce-Jones...Pryce-Jones...Pryce-Jones... Just saying it is a pleasure."

Muffy gave her an astonished look. "You're...you're in love with _him?_"

Beat nodded slightly and continued to stare straight ahead.

"He could be your grandfather!" exclaimed Muffy.

Beat finally turned her head to face Muffy. "Really? How do I arrange it?"

Muffy shook her head incredulously. "You're starting to scare me with your weird crushes, Beat."

The two girls walked into the cafeteria, where a large placard reading TODAY'S LUNCH: FILET MIGNON was hanging on the wall. Many richly dressed students were seated at tables, enjoying the fine cuisine and discussing everything from Lewis Carroll's logic puzzles to the nature of Freud's relationship with Jung.

Beat sniffed the air and smiled. "It smells so good. It must taste even better." Her smiled faded slightly. "Oh, Muffy, there must be a way I can enroll here."

"You're talking to the wrong girl," said Muffy dejectedly. "I'm looking for a way out."

----

The school day ended, and a number of the kids met at the Sugar Bowl to talk about the day's events. At one table sat Arthur, Francine, Sue Ellen, Binky, and George; Van was seated next to their table in his wheelchair.

"She has the nicest handwriting," said Sue Ellen as she showed the others the spot where Mavis had signed her cast.

"Too bad she can't be here with us," Arthur remarked. "She's really cool for a girl."

"She's really cool for a boy, too," Francine added.

Van pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and glanced at it. "I hope her house is accessible," he said. "I don't want to miss this party."

"Yeah, I'll bet she has her own theme park," said George.

"With animatronic Bunny League characters," said Arthur hopefully.

Binky reached over to Van and plucked the paper from his hand. "Let me see that." He started to read the words that were printed. "You a party... Huh? Why didn't I get one of these?"

"Mavis didn't give you one?" asked Sue Ellen curiously.

"I thought she gave them to everybody," said Francine.

All the kids looked at Binky, whose expression became somber.

"I guess I'm not invited," he muttered sadly. "I can't blame her."

"Why not?" asked Van.

Binky didn't answer, but sighed miserably.

"I think I know the reason," said George.

Before he could clarify, all of the kids were distracted by the entrance of a lavishly dressed woman into the shop. Her hamster-like head was blanketed with waves of full-bodied black hair, she wore a white fur coat with dark spots, and her fingers were covered with gems and diamonds. Her stiletto-heeled shoes made a scraping sound as she walked on the tile floor.

She looked in the direction of the table where the kids were sitting, but avoided making eye contact with any of them. "Pardon me," she said in a high-pitched voice, "but can any of you tell me how to get to the corner of Sage and Primrose? I'm trying to find the Tibble house."

Arthur knew the way, but he was occupied trying to remember where he had seen this woman before. Then it came to him...

"...and then you take a left, and go one more block," Francine told the woman.

"Thank you," she replied in a sing-song manner. The woman turned and hastily walked out of the shop, as if she considered the establishment to be beneath her notice.

Moments later, the kids watched as a white stretch limo slowly rolled along the street in front of the shop.

"Whoever that is, she must be stinking rich," Van observed.

"It's Trixie Tibble," Arthur informed him.

Francine's mouth fell open. "You mean...the twins' mother?"

"Uh-huh."

"And she doesn't know the way to her own house?" Francine shook her head in disbelief.

"She must not care about them at all," said George. "Fern was right."

Fern, who had gone to the Tibble house to care for the twins immediately after school, was in her customary mode of keeping them entertained with spooky stories.

"So there I was, trapped on the ledge, with vampires closing in on every side. I reached for my crucifix, but then I remembered I hadn't brought it with me, because I hadn't expected to run into vampires on my way to the corner market. The vampires came closer...and closer..."

"This is so sc-sc-scary!" cried Tommy.

"I think I just peed my pants!" exclaimed Timmy.

"...and closer...and closer..."

"How did you get away?" asked Tommy in a quivering voice.

"I didn't," Fern answered. She turned, secretly pulled a set of fangs from her blouse pocket, and inserted them into her mouth. When the twins saw her face again, she resembled a creature of the night.

"They got me. I am a vampire! Muwahahahahaha!"

"Aaaaarrrrgh!" shrieked the twins.

Suddenly the front door of the Tibble house burst open, and Trixie Tibble rushed through. "My babies!" she cried out.

Before Fern understood what was happening, Trixie hurried over to where the twins were standing, put her arms around them, and lifted them off the floor. "I won't let that bad girl hurt you," she told them in a squeaky voice.

Fern pulled the fangs from her mouth. "I was just telling them a story, Mrs. Tibble."

Trixie Tibble glared indignantly at her. "Well, you're frightening them. I don't want my babies to have nightmares." Fern couldn't tell whether her girlish, grating voice was natural or affected.

Tommy addressed the woman cheerfully. "It's sure good to see you, Mom."

"We haven't seen you for a long, long time," said Timmy. "But we still have all the stuff you sent us."

"Even the stuff we broke," Tommy added.

"Do we get to stay with you now?" asked Timmy.

"Of course you do," said Trixie insincerely.

Fern started toward the door. "I guess you won't be needing me anymore."

"Thank you for taking care of my babies, whoever you are," Trixie called after her.

Too disgusted to look back, Fern walked through the front door and closed it behind her. Through the haze filling the sky, she could see the sun already drawing close to the horizon. She fastened the zipper of her beige overcoat and thrust her hands into the pockets.

She walked about a block before running into Arthur and Francine, who were competing to see who could throw snowballs at a light pole with the most accuracy. "Hi, guys," she said flatly.

"Hey, Fern," said Arthur as he bent over and rolled another snowball in his hands. "Looks like you've been relieved of your babysitting duties." He glanced again at the long white limo that stood by the curb in front of the Tibble house.

"She came into the Sugar Bowl and asked for directions," said Francine. "She didn't even know the way."

Fern sighed bitterly. "I think that woman must have been the inspiration for Creepella D. Evil. I bet her coat's made of..."

She stopped in mid-insult when the three children heard a high-pitched, blood-curdling scream from the direction of the Tibble house.

(To be continued...)


	5. Spook Hunt

Startled by the piercing scream, Arthur, Fern, and Francine turned their faces toward the Tibble house. The screaming continued for several seconds. 

"It's her!" Fern exclaimed. "Come on!"

As she hurried down the sidewalk with Arthur and Francine at her heels, they saw the front door of the Tibble house fly open. Trixie Tibble emerged, still screaming frantically, her face pale, her eyes wide as saucers. With her arms tightly wrapped around the midsections of the confused Tommy and Timmy, she raced toward the parked limousine. Before Fern and her friends could reach the terrified woman, she had loaded herself and the twins into the vehicle and ordered the driver to depart at top speed.

"What do you suppose that was about?" mused Francine as she watched the limo accelerate down the street.

"Something must have scared her," Fern observed. "Let's go inside and find out what it was."

Arthur and Francine watched nervously as the still open front door swung slowly back and forth in the cold breeze.

"I've got a better idea," said Arthur. "Let's forget the whole thing, go to my place, and practice for the concert."

"I like that idea," said Francine. She and Arthur started down the sidewalk, leaving the annoyed Fern standing alone.

Determined to find out what had frightened Trixie Tibble, Fern marched up the stairs and through the doorway, closing the door behind her to keep out the winter air.

The lights were still on in the living room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except for the fact that the old wooden door leading to the cellar was hanging open. She gazed into the darkness of the corridor that had greeted her with a face full of cobwebs during her previous visit.

_No, thanks_, she thought. _I'm not going back in there without a flashlight._

----

Muffy's bedroom was furnished with every luxury that might warm a little girl's heart, but she felt cold and miserable inside. In her hand she gripped the note that Mr. Pryce-Jones had written and tied with a shiny red ribbon, intended for the eyes of Muffy's father. Her father, who was once again late returning from the car lot. She sighed impatiently.

Two rooms away, Mrs. Crosswire sat on the living room couch, bouncing baby Tyson on her knee in a vain attempt to stop his crying. She called toward the kitchen. "Claude, is the formula ready yet?"

"Oui, madame," replied the Crosswires' French manservant, who momentarily entered the room clutching a bottle filled with white fluid.

As Mrs. Crosswire proceeded to feed Tyson and Claude politely departed, the front door quickly opened. In marched Ed Crosswire, clad in the green sweater that he customariy wore at the lot during the cold season. His face was a mask of single-minded determination, and he seemed to have added three lines to his forehead since morning.

"Dinner's in the kitchen, dear," said his wife Millicent, smiling.

"I'm not hungry." It was the same response he had given every evening for the past week. Mrs. Crosswire watched with disappointment as her husband pulled off his sweater and trudged toward his study. "If you need me, I'll be in the war room," he muttered wearily. She knew that his real meaning was, "Don't bother me."

Muffy, note in hand, intercepted him as he arrived at the entrance to his study. "Dad, I need to talk to you."

"Not now, Muffin," said the exasperated Mr. Crosswire.

"It's important," Muffy insisted. "Mr. Pryce-Jones wants you to read this."

She unfastened the ribbon and handed the note to her father. "This had better be short," he grumbled. "Dear Mr. and Mrs. Crosswire," he began to read. "Hmm hmm...your daughter...hmm hmm...failing grades...hmm hmm..."

"Dad, I'm failing fourth grade," Muffy lamented. "If I don't bring my grades up, I'll have to repeat it."

Mr. Crosswire lowered the note. "And what's so bad about that?" he asked emotionlessly.

Muffy looked up at her father with pleading eyes. "I'm not good enough for Uppity Downs, even with Mrs. Stiles tutoring me. I...I want to go back to Lakewood."

"Out of the question," said Mr. Crosswire gruffly.

"Please, Dad!" Muffy appeared to be on the verge of tears.

Without a word, her father stepped through the doorway into his study and closed the door behind him.

Mrs. Crosswire, holding Tyson in her arms, approached Muffy and placed a hand on the sad-faced girl's shoulder.

"Why does he spend so much time in there?" asked Muffy without looking up. "Why won't he talk to me?"

"He's doing this for you," her mother answered. "He's fighting for your way of life."

----

"...but Mr. Pryce-Jones says that children don't benefit from reading about sword-and-sorcery heroes fighting dragons and evil wizards," Beat related. "He says the real heroes are the leaders and volunteers who go into the world and fight against poverty and ignorance."

The aardvark woman Penny Simon, who was sitting at her computer developing ideas for her next fantasy sequel, looked at her daughter with disdain--not for Beat, but for the private school teacher whom she had spent most of the last half-hour quoting.

"What does he know?" said Mrs. Simon flippantly. "The man's never fought a dragon in his life."

Beat opened her mouth to defend Pryce-Jones, but was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. As he yanked it from her belt and flipped it open, she took a seat on the easy chair in her small apartment. "Hello? Oh, hi, Muffy."

"It's no use, Beat," Muffy complained on the other end of the line. "My dad won't even talk to me about it. I guess I'm doomed to become the world's oldest fourth-grader."

"I wish I had your problem," Beat said to her. "I'd like nothing better in the world than to enroll at Uppity Downs, but my mum and dad could never afford it."

"I wish I could help you with that," said Muffy. "My folks have enough money to send three or four kids to Uppity Downs. Only problem is, your dad's suing my dad."

As Beat chatted earnestly with Muffy, Beat's father, Roger Simon, wandered into the room. The rabbit man listened curiously to the conversation for a few seconds, then turned to his wife. "It's rather romantic, isn't it?" he said in a sophisticated English accent.

"What is?" Mrs. Simon responded.

"That our daughter has made friends with the daughter of our enemy."

"Hmm," Penny grunted thoughtfully, as she started to type again.

Roger folded his arms and watched wistfully as Beat went on singing the praises of Cedric Pryce-Jones into her cell phone. "I only hope they'll still be friends after Crosswire Motors has been reduced to a pile of smouldering cinders," he remarked.

----

Having plucked two barren branches from the tree in his yard, George placed them on top of the head of his snowman to transform it into a snow moose. As he adjusted the faux antlers to his taste, he noticed Fern walking past the front fence of his house, carrying a large metal flashlight.

"Hey, Fern, what's up?" he called out in a friendly voice.

Fern stopped and smiled. "I'm going on a spook hunt. Wanna come?"

George grinned eagerly. "Sure." He hurried through the gate and followed Fern down the sidewalk.

"Something in the cellar of the Tibble house scared the twins' mother out of her wits," Fern explained to him. "I intend to find out what it was."

"Was it the yellow blob?" asked George excitedly.

"I don't know," Fern answered. "And it wasn't a blob. It was more of a weird shiny cloud."

"I'll bet it was the ghost of Grandma Tibble," said George.

"There's no such thing as ghosts," Fern retorted. "Besides, Grandma Tibble was a nice old lady. Why would she come back as a ghost and scare people?"

"Maybe she was just trying to be friendly. Like Philo the Phriendly Phantom. He just wants to have friends, but everybody runs away from him because he's a ghost." George began to sing badly. "Philo the Phriendly Phantom, phloating down the street... Philo the Phriendly Phantom, the scariest phriend you'll ever meet."

"Stop singing, George. You'll scare away the ghosts."

Momentarily the two children arrived at the front door of the Tibble house. Fern opened it and peered inside. The lights were on in the living room, and everything looked the same as it had during her last visit.

She took several steps inside, and then heard a scream of terror behind her. She whirled and saw George quaking before the suit of medieval armor that stood next to the door. "Relax," she said to him. "It's empty."

"Are...are you sure?" George stammered anxiously.

Gripping the flashlight with one hand, Fern grabbed George's arm with the other and pulled him away from the imposing suit of armor. "Oh, you'll make a fine ghostbuster," she muttered impatiently.

Finding the door to the cellar still partially open, she switched on the flashlight and stepped intrepidly into the dark corridor. George, glancing around, followed hesitantly.

"Watch out for spiderwebs," Fern warned George as she waved the flashlight from side to side in order to illuminate the gloom.

The stairway leading down to the cellar looked even more sinister in light than in darkness. The warped wooden steps appeared that they might crack under the slightest pressure. The ceiling was draped with cobwebs, some hanging so low that no adult could hope to pass without running into one. While Fern deftly dodged one spider nest after another, George shortly found that his antlers had become coated with strands of webbing.

"Uh, Fern, I think this is what scared her," said George, his voice quivering.

"You may be right," Fern responded as she carefully laid her foot on the first downward step. "I'd freak out too, if I got spiderwebs all over my nice fur coat."

She walked slowly until she was halfway down the stairs, then heard George cry out. Turning her head, she saw the moose boy brushing his nose with his hand while gasping with fear. "What happened?" she asked.

"S-s-spider," George stuttered. "B-big one. Landed right on my nose."

Fern pointed the flashlight at him and widened her eyes. "It's going into your coat!"

"Argh!" George quickly zipped open his down jacket and started to brush his sweater, hoping to drive off the insect.

"It's going into your pants!" cried Fern.

"Argh!" George reached for his pants zipper...then stopped when he noticed that Fern was giggling uncontrollably.

Fern giggled and laughed until she thought she would burst. George glared at her indignantly. "Girls," he groused. "Always wanting to see me with my pants down."

As George began to step timidly down the stairs, Fern pointed the flashlight at the bend leading into the cellar and continued on her way. She placed her free hand over her mouth and struggled to stifle further giggles.

Seconds later, George arrived at the bottom of the stairway and stood behind Fern, who was aiming the flashlight at the dresser mirror in the middle of the cellar. The reflection of the light beam in the fractured glass was almost blinding after the blackness through which they had just wandered.

"I was standing in front of that mirror when I saw the yellow cloud," Fern informed George.

The moose boy glanced around the large room in astonishment. The ancient furniture, the old trunks, the cobwebs lining the walls...it all seemed to him like a Halloween theme ride.

"This place is so totally creepy," he said in a low voice. "It's, like, Ghosts-R-Us."

Overcome by curiosity, Fern walked toward one of the more colorful trunks and heaved the lid open. She was greeted by a swarm of moths, who fluttered around her face as she frantically waved her arms to ward them off. After several seconds of this barrage, during which she imagined she had swallowed two or three of the creatures, the moths established a holding pattern inside of the beam from her flashlight.

Fern sputtered as George approached her. "Maybe that's what you saw," he theorized. "A big cloud of little moths."

"It wasn't moths," said Fern as she gazed at the moth-eaten, foul-smelling garments lying within the trunk.

"See anything scary yet?" asked George.

"Yeah," Fern replied. "You." She then placed the flashlight beam directly in front of George's face. The moths, attracted to the light, began to orbit around the boy's head as he swatted uselessly at them.

Upon deciding that George had been tormented enough, Fern withdrew the flashlight and wandered toward another of the trunks, accompanied by an entourage of moths. "What do you suppose is in this one?"

"Let me open it," George offered. "Maybe it's the lost treasure of Blacktooth the Pirate."

"Maybe it's the_cursed_ treasure of Blacktooth the Pirate," said Fern ominously.

"Cursed?" George looked fearfully at the old gray trunk. "What do you mean?"

"There be a terrible curse upon any who shall open me treasure," said Fern in her best pirate imitation. "Me ghost shall haunt them, and their children, and their children's children, for as long as one of them shall walk the earth or sail the seas! Arrr!"

George stared at her blankly. "You're making all this up, right?"

"Of course," Fern replied in her normal voice. "Go ahead, open it. It's probably more clothes and moths."

Half an hour later, Fern and George walked out of the Tibble house, strands of spider silk still dangling from their clothes. The sky had grown dark, and no stars were visible.

Fern sighed. "Well, that was a disappointment."

"Yeah," said George. "We didn't find any ghosts. Well, at least now I know of a good place to hold a Halloween party."

----

"I need a room for the night," said Trixie Tibble to the clerk at the checkin desk of the Elwood Mairzydoats hotel. "Me and the two boys."

"Are we gonna live here, Mom?" asked Timmy. Next to him, Tommy was trying to see how far he could tip a potted fern before it fell over.

"No, it's just for the night," Trixie replied. "I hope so, anyway."

Several minutes later she was walking down the hall on the third floor of the hotel, her stiletto heels leaving round imprints in the carpet. The twins followed after her, occasionally distracted by fascinating items like fire hoses and vending machines.

"323," the woman muttered (meaning that she spoke with a normal tone instead of an affected falsetto). "This is it."

She inserted the entry card into the reader and pushed the door open. "Oh, cool!" cried Tommy as he rushed into the hotel room and gazed at the beautiful furnishings.

"Don't break anything, boys," called Trixie as Timmy raced past her. "This time I mean it."

Tommy and Timmy climbed onto the double bed and began to jump and bounce while Trixie eagerly pulled off her fur coat. "This thing itches like crazy," she grumbled.

As she draped it over a nearby chair, she noticed that someone had left a handwritten note on the nightstand, next to the complimentary Elwood City tourism guide. She picked it up...and her heart almost stopped when she read the words.

In large, crude capital letters was written, TOMMY AND TIMMY BELONG TO ME. GIVE THEM BACK OR ELSE.

(To be continued...)


	6. Ratburn Shrugged

The next morning, a light snow was falling as the kids assembled on the sidewalk in front of Lakewood Elementary. Beat Simon, wearing her pink parka and a smile almost wide enough to be visible from space, approached a group of girls that included Francine, Sue Ellen, and Jenna. 

"Hey, Beat," Francine greeted her. "How did you like Uppity Downs?"

"Oh, it was heavenly!" Beat enthused. "I've never had such a feeling of total intellectual satisfaction. Even the cafeteria food is wonderful. And Mr. Pryce-Jones is..."

Suddenly all three girls screamed in unison.

"What?" said the confused Beat.

"Don't say the name!" exclaimed Sue Ellen.

"It's bad luck," said Jenna fearfully. "Just the sound of it means extra homework. Call him You-Know-Who from now on."

"Silly geese," muttered Beat, shaking her head incredulously.

As she turned toward the stairway leading to the entrance, the glass doors flew open and Prunella rushed out, her eyes wide with astonishment. "Omigosh! Omigosh!" she cried as she almost tripped over the stairs in her haste to reach the girls. "This is awful! You're not gonna believe it!" She was followed closely by Binky, who also wore an expression of extreme surprise.

"What is it?" asked Francine. "Has the cafeteria stopped serving kosher hot dogs?"

"Worse," said Prunella.

"Did they cut the budget for tae kwon do?" asked Sue Ellen.

"Worse!" Prunella repeated.

"Has the government finally seen professional wrestling for the relic of barbarism that it is, and banned it from the airwaves?" asked Beat.

"Better," said Binky.

"Just tell us, Prunella," said Jenna impatiently.

Prunella took a quick breath. "Mr. Ratburn has quit his job!"

The other girls couldn't believe what they had just heard.

"Ratburn? Quit?" was all Francine could force out of her mouth.

"But he can't quit," said Jenna. "He's a teacher."

"I didn't quit," came a man's voice from behind Prunella and Binky. Mr. Ratburn was standing in the doorway, holding one of the doors open. "I'm taking a leave of absence at the recommendation of the school board," he concluded.

"For how long?" asked Sue Ellen.

"Most likely for the remainder of the academic year," the teacher replied.

"But why?" asked Francine earnestly.

Mr. Ratburn shrugged. "Who is Marc Brown?"

As he turned and reentered the school building, Binky and the girls looked at each other with expressions of confused wonder.

----

They were still every bit as confused when they gathered at the Sugar Bowl after school. Arthur, Fern, George, Sue Ellen, Muffy, and Beat were sitting at a table together, discussing Mr. Ratburn's surprise move.

"I just can't believe it," said Muffy. "He's been teaching at Lakewood for such a long time."

"Five years," Beat added.

"I asked Mr. Pryce...er, You-Know-Who about it today," Muffy went on, "but all he's heard is rumors."

"What kind of rumors?" asked Sue Ellen.

Muffy glanced about and began to speak in a hushed tone. "They say he's in trouble with the law."

George gasped. "You mean...The Rat's a criminal?"

"What crime has he committed?" asked Fern.

"Tax evasion?" Beat theorized.

"Cruel and unusual homework?" Sue Ellen suggested.

"Maybe he's hiding something in those puppets of his," said Arthur suspiciously.

"The kids have been asking him about it all day," said Beat, "but he's not talking."

"Well, of course he won't tell the students if he's mixed up in something illegal," George pointed out.

"I don't get it," said Fern, shaking her head. "They say school is supposed to be educational, but all they do is hide things from us. Remember Mrs. Stiles? The kids didn't find out she was in rehab until she was out of rehab."

As the kids conversed, a rabbit man wearing a brown wool vest over a black clergy shirt walked into the ice cream shop and stood in front of the counter. "I'll have a Big Pig sundae," he told the server.

"Oh, hi, reverend," Arthur called to him upon recognizing his face.

Reverend Fulsome turned and smiled at the kids. "Well, hello, Arthur. And Fern. And...hmm..."

As the reverend pretended that he was struggling to remember the names of the kids he didn't recognize, Sue Ellen introduced herself. "My name's Sue Ellen. I've only been to your church once."

"I'm happy to meet you," said the clergyman as he fished a few dollar bills from his pocket. "Why don't you attend more often?"

"To my parents, religion is like ice cream," Sue Ellen replied. "They try a new flavor every week."

The reverend chuckled. "I love that analogy. Of course, no matter what flavor you try, it's all just vanilla with fancy stuff added."

Sue Ellen giggled for a moment, then became serious. "I don't get it."

"Do you know anything about the funeral for Grandma Tibble?" Arthur asked the reverend.

"Not a thing," the rabbit man answered. "Trixie called me this morning, but she didn't want to discuss funeral arrangements. Instead, she made a rather unusual request."

"What was that?" asked Fern.

Reverend Fulsome paused as the server handed him a large sundae. "She wants me to exorcise her house," he replied.

Arthur scratched his head in confusion as he pictured the pieces of furniture and suit of armor in the Tibble house bending back and forth as the reverend led them in an aerobic workout.

"She wants me to cast out the evil spirits," Fulsome clarified when he saw the blank expressions on the kids' faces.

George turned to Fern and grinned. "I knew it! The place really _is_ haunted!"

"Now I don't believe in the existence of evil spirits myself," said the reverend, "but Trixie claims that she heard voices...and even saw things moving on their own...when she went inside to get her boys."

"Interesting," said Fern analytically. "What did the voices say to her?"

"She wasn't very specific." Reverend Fulsome shoveled a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth while still standing at the counter. "But she thinks the boys are in danger. She thinks something followed her to the hotel, too. If you want my honest opinion, she spent too much time under the hot sun in Egypt without a parasol."

George's face fell. "What was it you just said about the Tibble house being haunted?" Arthur teased him.

Muffy jumped down from her seat. "I need to go now. I have one more person to ask about Mr. Ratburn. You can tell me all about the ghosts later."

"I'd better go too," said Fern as she pushed herself away from the table.

Soon all six kids were filing out of the shop, buttoning or zipping their coats to defend against the cold weather. Fern and George walked in one direction, while the others took a different route.

"I don't believe everything the reverend says," Fern said to George, "but if he says Trixie Tibble's crazy, I'll believe him."

"So you really think ghosts and spirits don't exist," said George somberly.

"Yeah, I don't." Fern started to snicker. "But I sorta wish they did. I'd pay real money to see that big blowhard do battle with evil spirits."

----

The apparent hopelessness of keeping her head above water at Uppity Downs weighed heavily on Muffy's troubled mind as she rang the doorbell at Mrs. Stiles' apartment. Moments later the door swung open, and Angela Ratburn greeted her. The rat woman wore a tacky house dress, and her shoulder-length brown hair was somewhat straggly. "Come in, Muffy," she said flatly.

Muffy didn't take a step. Instead she asked, "Why has Nigel been suspended?"

The mere mention of Mr. Ratburn's situation seemed to bring Angela to the verge of tears.

"I asked Mr. Pryce-Jones, and all my friends at Lakewood, but nobody knows," Muffy continued. "You're his sister, you should know."

"You really want to know why?" the woman asked ominously. "You want the truth?"

Muffy nodded eagerly.

Angela wiped away the tears that had started to well up in her eyes, then turned and led Muffy into the apartment. She picked up a stapled set of papers that had been laid on the coffee table, and handed it to Muffy. "Here it is," she said, barely masking the despair in her voice. "Read it and weep."

"What is it?" asked Muffy as she started to silently read the ornately worded introduction.

"It's a subpoena."

(To be continued...)


	7. Muffy Learns the Truth

"A subpoena?" Muffy marveled. "I think my dad got one of those once. Does this mean you have to go to court and stuff?" 

"That's what it means," Angela replied glumly.

Still clutching the papers, Muffy sat on the couch next to her. "Is this for you, or for Nigel?" she asked.

"It's for me," said Angela, "but Nigel got one too. You see, we're both in trouble."

Not daring to speak, Muffy waited for the rat woman to continue with her story.

"A number of years ago, some people broke into a military base and performed an act of sabotage. The government conducted an investigation, and I was one of the suspects. But I was let off the hook when Nigel swore under oath that I had been with him on the night that the crime took place."

Muffy spoke in a low, nervous voice. "Angela, you didn't...you weren't one of the people who committed the crime, were you?"

Angela paused, as if weighing her answer carefully.

"Whether I was or not doesn't matter," she said evasively. "The important thing is, Nigel has a strong case against me. And now that he's recanted his testimony, he could face charges of perjury."

"Perjury?"

"Lying under oath. It doesn't look good, Muffy. Nigel and I may both end up in prison. But what I don't understand is...why now? With only three months before the statute of limitations runs out?"

Muffy was speechless. The prospect of Angela being prosecuted for past misdeeds had rested at the back of her mind ever since she had met the woman. But Nigel as well? It was incomprehensible.

"This is why my family hates me so much," Angela went on. "The Ratburns have a reputation for integrity. They weren't pleased with my choice of lifestyle, and it made them even angrier when Nigel had to lie to cover for me."

"Then it was a lie," said the astonished Muffy. "Then you are guilty."

Angela lowered her head in shame. "I was young and idealistic," she recounted. "I thought I could change the world. But the world didn't change, and I had to become one of the people I hated just to survive."

After a brief pause, Muffy became indignant. "That's wrong! You've spent so much time trying to clean up your life, but...but Nigel thinks you haven't suffered enough! He's nothing but a dirty rat!"

Angela didn't answer or look at Muffy.

"You should fight this," Muffy continued. "I know a really good lawyer."

----

At roughly the same time, Mr. Read was placing a tray of danish pastries into the oven in preparation for a convention which he was catering. Suddenly he saw, through the kitchen window, something he never expected to see in his life.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed.

Reverend Fulsome was running--or rather, shuffling--down the sidewalk in front of the Read house. He wore an expression of terror, and his black pants had fallen down around his ankles, revealing his pin-striped boxer shorts.

Mr. Read hurried through the front door to greet the reverend. When Fulsome saw one of his parishioners approaching him, he stopped, bent over, and began to fumble with his pants.

"I'm sure you must have a good reason for this," said Mr. Read facetiously, "but isn't it a little cold?"

The reverend didn't answer as he pulled his pants over his boxer shorts and fastened his belt. He cast a nervous glance behind him, in the direction of the Tibble house. Then he asked, "Mind if I come in for a minute?"

"Not at all," said Mr. Read.

Once he had led the reverend into his house and closed the door, he started to chuckle. Seconds later, he burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"This is no laughing matter," the reverend said solemnly.

"I'm...sorry," Mr. Read choked out between giggles.

"Something's in that house," Fulsome told him. "It pulled my pants down. I had to get out of there before it pulled anything else down."

Mr. Read looked at him blankly for a few moments, then started to laugh again.

"The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak," remarked the reverend. "I'll give you a minute to recover from the shock."

Still overcome by giggles, Mr. Read managed to string together a question. "What...do you think...it was, reverend?"

"I never believed in demons until today," Fulsome replied. "And this is no ordinary demon. I suspect we're dealing with a succubus."

Mr. Read suddenly stopped laughing. "A what?"

"A she-demon who seduces men in their sleep."

"That's crazy."

"No, I think it makes perfect sense. Why else would it want to pull down my pants?"

Mr. Read started to laugh hysterically again. Reverend Fulsome rolled his eyes and sighed.

----

Friday arrived, and the children could talk about nothing except for the party at Mavis' house that evening, and the following evening's concert featuring Wynton Marsalis and Sue Ellen's jazz quartet with Fern substituting for the injured Sue Ellen.

As Beat strolled into the Sugar Bowl after the end of school, she saw Binky sitting at a table alone, looking rather glum. As she sat down across from him, he raised his eyes slowly to connect with hers, then lowered them again.

Beat grinned. "Penny for your thoughts, Binky."

Binky took a deep breath. "I wasn't invited to the party at Mavis' house because I'm a big stupid doofus and I stood there and did nothing while Molly pushed her into a puddle and made her books get wet because I didn't want to be embarrassed in front of Molly because Molly's my friend and Mavis isn't, or at least that's how Mavis sees it. Keep your penny."

Beat rested her chin on her hands and gazed at Binky silently and wistfully, as if hoping that the glow of her countenance would cheer him up.

It didn't. "You're right, Beat. I'm nothing but a silly goose."

"Now that you've admitted it, maybe we can get somewhere." Beat rested her hands on the table and leaned forward. "I think the best thing is for you to go to the party, invited or no, and apologize to Mavis."

"Now you're being a silly goose," Binky protested. "I can't go to Mavis' house without an invitation. She probably lives in a super fancy high-tech mansion. The moment I walk in, a laser beam will scan my DNA and then the master computer will look for my name on the list of invited guests. When it doesn't find me, a couple of robot bouncers will grab me and take me out back and throw me in the dumpster."

"I never actually met her," said Beat. "Muffy delivered her invitation to me. But I think she's a nice girl. She'll understand."

"You think so?" asked Binky.

Beat nodded.

A few tables away, Fern and George sat and faced each other, discussing the strange occurrences at the Tibble house.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Fern reflected. "Trixie went inside, and something scared her half to death. Reverend Fulsome went inside, and someone pulled down his pants. Whenever you and I go inside, nothing happens."

"Don't forget the yellow blob," George reminded her.

"Right." Fern's tone became suspicious. "You know what I think? This is all some sort of publicity stunt to bring more tourists to Elwood City. 'Come visit the Tibble Tower of Terror, if you dare!'"

"That would be cool," George mused. "People from all over the world coming to our neighborhood to see the haunted house."

"I've got a better idea." Fern smiled. "'Come to Elwood City and tour the childhood home of singing sensation Fern Walters.'"

----

Later that evening, Muffy and Mavis were busily making preparations for the party at Mavis' house, which, as it turned out, was a very modest place of residence. There was only one floor and two bedrooms, one of which Mavis had to herself. In the living room sat a drab-looking couch and love seat, and an old 30-inch TV set with metal antennae attached to the back. A pile of VHS movies and several bowls of snack food had been placed on the coffee table.

"If this were my house," said Muffy as she started to place some old wooden chairs in a circle, "there would be servants to do all this manual labor."

"But it's not, so we have to do it ourselves," said Mavis, who was employing a feather duster to clean the surface of an antique but still functional piano.

The doorbell rang. "I'll get it," said Muffy. She hurried to the door and opened it, revealing the presence of Van in his wheelchair. "Van, you made it! Come on in!"

Van pushed a button on the armrest, and the wheelchair zipped through the doorway. He glanced around the living room, befuddled. "I wasn't sure if I had the right place. I guess this is it after all."

"It's not much to look at, but it's home," said Mavis as she opened a closet door and stored the feather duster inside.

"Nothing's wrong with it," Van went on. "My house isn't much bigger, and there are six of us kids. But I thought only rich kids with fancy houses went to Uppity Downs."

Mavis sat down on a wooden chair next to Van. "For the most part, that's true, but my case is different. I had a rich uncle who left a stipulation in his will that would pay for my tuition, because I was his favorite niece."

Before Van had a chance to comment on Mavis' good fortune, the doorbell rang again. Muffy opened the door to find Beat standing on the welcome mat, a look of uncertainty on her face.

"I wasn't sure if I had the right place..." she began.

"Mavis isn't rich," Muffy interrupted. "She goes to Uppity Downs because of her uncle's will. Come on in, Beat."

As the British girl stepped into the house, Mavis rose to meet her. "I'm Mavis Cutler," she introduced herself. "So you're the girl who took my place."

"That I am," said Beat softly. "And imagine my surprise to learn that one doesn't have to be rich in order to attend Uppity Downs." She spoke in a solemn tone, as if a chorus of angels had just announced to her the purpose of human existence.

Before Muffy had a chance to close the door, Francine appeared in the doorway, also wearing a confused expression.

"Yes, this is the right place," Muffy told her. "No, Mavis isn't rich. Come in, Francine."

"Thanks, Muffy." Francine walked inside, pulled off her red jacket, and stood behind Beat, who was hanging her pink parka in the coat closet.

Within minutes, Arthur, Sue Ellen, Fern, and George had also arrived, and Muffy briefed each one of them on the fact that Mavis wasn't as rich as they had expected.

As George fished a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table, he noticed the stack of VHS tapes sitting nearby. "Oh, look! Video tapes!" he marveled. "My mom told me about them. They're what people watched before DVDs were invented."

"Which one do you want to watch?" Mavis asked him.

George looked stunned. "What? We're gonna watch one of them?"

"That's the idea," Mavis responded. "Unless you want to just sit around and talk."

"I didn't know people still watched these things," said George, picking up the topmost video and turning it in his hand. "I thought they just kept them around for sentimental value."

"Video tapes were all I had to watch when I was little," Sue Ellen told him. "I never saw a DVD until I came to America."

Not far away, Arthur was examining the old-fashioned television. "This thing is really old," he remarked. "It's even got rabbit ears."

"What's wrong with rabbit ears?" Beat asked him.

As Mavis was showing Francine a scrapbook containing pictures of her as a toddler, Fern approached her. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can stay for the movie," she announced. "I really need to practice my singing."

"Oh, well, have fun then," said Mavis. "Good luck at the concert tomorrow."

As Fern walked away, Francine began to speak apologetically. "I need to go as well. I start to lose my touch if I'm away from my drums for too long. I'm sorry I can't stay longer."

"Good luck tomorrow." Mavis closed the scrapbook and replaced it on the shelf as Francine made her way to the door.

One after another, the guests at Mavis' party offered excuses for leaving early, and then departed. Soon only Mavis, Muffy, and Beat remained. The three girls looked at each other in stunned silence.

"How rude!" exclaimed the indignant Muffy. "What were they expecting, the Queen Elizabeth II?"

"I don't care if you're rich or poor," Beat told Mavis. "I'm just glad to have a new friend."

"Well, at least there are two people I can count on to never leave me alone," said Mavis.

The doorbell rang. Muffy answered it, and the anxious-looking Binky stepped into the house.

Mavis rolled her eyes and sighed. "Make that three."

She glared impatiently at Binky as the uninvited boy approached her. "So, did you finally decide that I'm your friend after all?"

"I just wanted to talk to you," said Binky in a contrite voice.

"Look around you." Mavis took several steps toward Binky. "This is my house. It's not exactly the palace you expected, is it?"

"Uh...no," said Binky, glancing around.

"Do you still want to talk to me?" Mavis asked him.

"Yeah." Binky seated himself on the couch and patted the other cushion, in hopes that Mavis would sit next to him.

And she did, though hesitant at first.

Muffy started toward Mavis' bedroom. "I think we should leave these two alone," she told Beat, who began to follow her.

After the two girls had entered the bedroom and closed the door behind them, Binky faced Mavis with a confident grin. "So...you're not rich after all."

"I'm afraid not," Mavis replied. "As I've already explained to seven people tonight, I can only afford to attend Uppity Downs because of my rich uncle's will."

"I'm okay with you not being rich," said Binky. "In fact, I think it's great that you're not rich. I mean, being rich is cool and all, but if you were rich, then you wouldn't want anything to do with a poor boy like me."

Mavis didn't respond, but continued to stare blankly at him.

Binky's voice became emotional. "What I'm trying to say is...I...I think you're really smart, and really cute, and I think...I think I have a crush on you..."

Mavis' eyes nearly exploded from their sockets. Binky held his breath and watched as the girl's face contorted through various stages of shock.

Finally she composed herself and spoke. "You...you have a crush on me?"

Binky nodded weakly.

Then Mavis did something that took Binky by surprise. She placed her hands on her sides and began to laugh convulsively.

He had expected to be spurned, but he hadn't expected to be laughed at. It annoyed him. "Stop laughing at me!" he growled.

Mavis managed to get out a few sentences between her laughs and giggles. "You have a crush on me? Aren't you afraid Molly will be jealous?"

"Molly's not my girlfriend," Binky told her. "She's just my friend."

"And I'm not!" Mavis' laughter suddenly turned to indignation. "I embarrass you, don't I? You're afraid you'll be kicked out of your little band of bullies if you're seen with me! And now you have the nerve to come to me and tell me you're in love with me!"

The girl's sudden outburst made Binky feel as though a package of firecrackers had just exploded in his face. He closed his gaping mouth and struggled to calm his nerves. "I'm not in love with you," he explained. "I just have a crush on you."

After glaring fiercely at Binky for about half a minute, Mavis began to cool down. Finally she lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have popped off like that. It's so undignified."

"It's okay," said Binky sympathetically. "Look, I'm really, really sorry for what happened at the playground. I'll do anything to make it up to you."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Mavis' lips curled into a wicked grin. Binky began to wish he had said "almost anything" instead.

"Oh, yes," said Mavis with a sinister tone. "I know exactly how you can prove that your feelings are true."

"How?" asked Binky.

"Avenge me." Mavis' eyes were like glowing embers. "Fight Molly!"

(To be continued...)


	8. Wynton is Coming

Binky's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe he had heard such bold words from the cute little hamster girl sitting before him. 

"Have you ever read _Much Ado About Nothing_ by Shakespeare?" Mavis asked him. Positive that he hadn't, she went on. "Beatrice asks Benedick to prove his love for her by killing the man who framed her innocent cousin Hero. Now I'm not asking you to kill Molly, just to fight her."

"B-b-but I can't fight Molly," stammered Binky. "She's a girl. And besides, she might win."

"Fight her and I'll kiss you," said Mavis gleefully.

Binky groaned. He could think of no honorable way to escape from the sticky situation in which he had placed himself.

----

When Beat arrived at her apartment, she found her father at the computer, preparing slides for a political science lecture scheduled for the following week. Her mother was cleaning up the flour left on the kitchen counter by the batch of fresh crumpets she had made.

"Mum, Dad, guess what?" said Beat excitedly as she pulled off her parka. "Mavis isn't rich after all. Her dad runs a local bank branch, and her mum's a general practitioner. She goes to Uppity Downs because of her uncle's will."

"That's lovely, dear." Mrs. Simon gestured toward a tray of crumpets on the kitchen table.

"I'm not hungry." Beat walked up to her mother and looked at her pleadingly. "Mum, do we have any rich uncles who are about to kick the bucket?"

"Beatrice Margaret!" Mrs. Simon pointed an angry finger at Beat. "Don't you dare talk that way."

"You don't have any rich uncles," said Mr. Simon without looking away from the computer. "Or rich aunts. The only way we'll ever be rich is if your mother's books become popular, and that shows no sign of happening soon."

Beat walked out of the kitchen, shaking her head in exasperation. "There must be a way to get enough money. Dad, what if you stopped trying to sue Mr. Crosswire?"

"Then I'd be stuck with all the lawyer fees," Mr. Simon replied, "and we'd be in worse shape than we are now."

Beat seated herself on the living room couch and began to sulk. "I wish we weren't so bloody poor," she moaned.

"Don't use gutter language," Mrs. Simon admonished her.

Mr. Simon turned in his office chair and faced his daughter. "If you want more advanced schooling, then why did you turn down the chance to advance to fifth grade when it was offered you?"

"I'd go to fifth grade at Uppity Downs if I had the chance," Beat answered.

"Lakewood Elementary is a fine school," Mr. Simon continued, "as far as the American system of education goes. Some children are rich enough or lucky enough to go to an even better school, but you're not one of them. So live with it. End of discussion." He turned back to face the computer screen.

Mrs. Simon came out of the kitchen and sat next to Beat, who looked more sullen than ever. "Honey, if we could afford to send you to Uppity Downs, we would," she said comfortingly.

"No, we wouldn't," Roger chimed in. "We'd put the money to some better use. I don't want my little girl to grow up to be like those haughty-taughty snobs."

Beat pushed herself off the couch and glared at her father. "You think everyone who's rich is a snob," she ranted. "You think you're better than they are because you're not rich. That makes you a...a...the opposite of a snob!" Having said this, she marched into her bedroom and slammed the door after her.

Climbing onto her bed, she grabbed the cell phone from her belt and sighed gloomily as she started to dial a number.

"Hello?" came a man's voice.

"Mr. Pryce-Jones, it's Beat."

"Oh, hello, Beat. Calling again so soon?"

"Why didn't you tell me that Mavis wasn't rich?"

Beat heard a pause on the other end of the connection, followed by, "Why does that matter to you?"

"It doesn't. Well, yes, it does. Because if she's not rich, and she goes to Uppity Downs, then maybe I can go too. I don't have any rich uncles, but maybe there's another way."

There was more silence on the line.

"Beatrice," said Pryce-Jones seriously, "I'm afraid I may have gotten your hopes up. When I told you that you'd fit in well at our school, what I really meant was, you'd fit in well if you had the means to enroll. I hope I didn't give you the impression that you have a realistic chance of attending."

Beat's heart plummeted like a stone.

"If it were merely a question of intelligence, we could easily welcome you in," the teacher went on. "But Uppity Downs Academy is a business, and it employs the best teachers, and pays them the salaries that they deserve. All of that money has to come from somewhere, and it comes mainly from tuition. So unless you can convince a well-to-do relative or friend to support you, my advice to you is to stay at your own school, and be content with it."

Tears came to Beat's eyes as she realized that her fondest desire would never come to pass. She flipped the cell phone closed and tossed it onto the floor.

----

Elwood City's main cultural venue, the recently completed Katzenellenbogan Music Hall, towered above the surrounding office buildings and parking garages like a gigantic breadbox. That was the popular consensus as to the appearance of the drab, windowless structure.

Regardless, music fans of all ages were thrilled at the chance to attend the first concert held in the building, which would feature the talents of Wynton Marsalis and his jazz quintet. An hour before the program was to begin, dozens of people were already milling about in the lobby, admiring the paintings lining the walls and the modern sculptures mounted at various points.

Most excited of all were Fern, Arthur, Francine, and Alan, who constituted the Sue E. Armstrong Quartet for as long as Sue Ellen was unable to play her saxophone. For the occasion the kids were wearing the best clothes they could find. Francine had acquired a pair of black satin pants (she refused to wear a dress), Arthur wore a white shirt and bowtie, and Fern was clad in a red sequined gown. Musical instruments--a drum set, bass, and keyboard--had been provided for them, and were waiting at the west end of the lobby. The coordinator of the Young Musicians Program, a raven-haired raven woman, greeted the four kids as they arrived.

"You kids ready to make some music?" she asked with enthusiasm.

"You bet!" exclaimed the smiling Fern. "Bring on the fans!"

As Arthur, Francine, and Alan sat down and began to tinker with the unfamiliar instruments, the patrons slowly started to form a ring around them. Then three more kids--Muffy, Sue Ellen, and Van--pushed their way through the throng toward the young musicians.

"Make way, everyone," Muffy bellowed. "Wheelchair boy and girl with broken arm coming through." The spectators politely stood aside, allowing the three children to assume their positions next to the performers.

Muffy cleared her throat and spoke into the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen! It gives us great pleasure to present to you...the Sue E. Armstrong Jazz Quartet, with special guest vocalist, Fern Walters!" Fern bowed politely to the assembled crowd.

"On keyboard, Arthur 'The Aardvark' Read!" Arthur smiled and waved.

"On drums, Francine 'The Frenzy' Frensky!" Francine waved her drumsticks in the air.

"On bass, Alan 'The Brain' Powers!" Alan pumped his fist triumphantly.

"In the sidelines, Sue Ellen 'The Felon' Armstrong, the founder of our group, who is unable to play with us tonight!" Sue Ellen waved with her good hand.

"Van Cooper, who manages the whole mess!" Van waved and blew a kiss to the spectators.

"And myself, Muffy Crosswire, who really had nothing to do with any of this, which is why their clothes are so tacky!" Fern scowled at her.

"What are you waiting for?" Muffy called to the musicians.

"A-one, a-two, a-three..." Fern began, and the quartet launched into a rendition of a Fats Waller standard:

"No one to talk with, all by myself,

No one to walk with, but I'm happy on the shelf.

Ain't misbehavin', I'm savin' my love for you."

As the patrons whistled and tapped their feet to the lively music, a man stood nearby talking into a cell phone. "I'll let him know right away. Good luck."

"I took a trip on a train," Fern warbled, "and I thought about you..."

The man who had held the cell phone conversation was now talking to another man, who appeared quite consternated. "You can't be serious!" he protested. "How many things can go wrong in one night?"

Time passed quickly, and Fern belted out one song after another, pausing only for occasional drinks of water from a nearby bottle. The gathered patrons one by one left the scene and entered the main hall to take their seats. Soon only three were left, and Fern noticed that the wall clock read five minutes until the hour. She and the other musicians concluded their song, and the three remaining listeners applauded and started toward the hall.

Fern wiped her brow. "Oh, that was exhausting," she muttered to Arthur, Francine, and Alan. "I don't think I could do that again."

"We'd like you to anyway," came a man's voice from behind her. Turning, she saw two dark-complexioned bear men standing before her, wearing tags that identified them as music hall personnel.

"Marsalis and his quintet have been delayed," said one of the men. "They may be as much as forty-five minutes late. We'd like you to take your instruments to the main stage and cover for them."

Fern, Arthur, Francine, and Alan felt as though all their vital organs had suddenly leaped into their throats and were choking them.

(To be continued...)


	9. A Smashing Success

Arthur, Francine, and Alan reacted to the man's request with mixed feelings. While the chance to perform in front of thousands of music lovers was like a dream come true, they were terrified beyond description at the prospect of doing so at such short notice. 

"We can't do it!" exclaimed Alan, looking around at the others. "We're not remotely as good as the Wynton Marsalis Quintet. How can we cover for them?"

Fern's lips suddenly spread into a confident grin, and she turned to face her friends. "Buck up, guys. We're gonna play in front of that audience, and we are gonna blow them away!"

Her zeal was met with looks of incredulity from Francine, Arthur, and Alan.

"Fern, I think it's great that you've come out of your shell and all," said Arthur, "but Alan's got a point."

"Are you gonna cover or not?" asked the bear man who had asked for their help. "We don't have time for pep talks. If you don't cover, nobody will."

Muffy turned to Van. "Can I be announcer again?" she asked.

"Sure," Van replied.

Sue Ellen raised her fist. "Fern's right. Let's get out there and knock their socks off!"

Reluctantly, Francine started to disassemble the drum set. "I guess a fourth grade jazz quartet is better than silence," she muttered.

"I want you and your instruments on the stage in five minutes," said the bear man, who then walked away toward the main hall.

And five minutes later, they were there. As Van and Sue Ellen watched from stageside, Muffy's usual introduction was greeted with moderate applause from the impatient fans, and Fern began to serenade them with a Duke Ellington standard:

"Missed the Saturday dance, heard they crowded the floor.

Couldn't bear it without you, Don't get around much anymore."

The bear man who worked at the concert hall stood behind Sue Ellen, Van, and Muffy, watching and listening to the kids with interest. "They sound really good," he remarked.

Van spun his wheelchair around to face the man. "What happened to Wynton Marsalis?" he asked. "Why is he late?"

"You won't believe it," was the reply. "I'm not sure I believe it. It's crazy. It's like someone was trying to keep them away."

On the main stage, Fern sang with aplomb as her three friends struggled to play competently, driven by the fear of being mocked by half the population of Elwood City.

_You had plenty of money in 1922,_

_You let other women make a fool of you._

_Why don't you do right like some other men do..._

The audience cheered and applauded more and more fiercely with each song that went by. The Reads were in the audience (with the exception of Arthur and Kate), as well as the parents of Fern, Alan, Sue Ellen, and Francine. Nigel and Rodentia Ratburn sat next to an aisle; Nigel had his arm around Carla, who was seated next to him. The Cooper family took up what seemed like half a row, and Muffy's parents were conspicuously absent.

About forty-five minutes went by, and the audience was going wild for Fern's singing and the trio's backup. Upon ending a song, the fatigued Fern reached for her water bottle, only to see the bear man enter the stage. He stood in front of the microphone and announced, "The Wynton Marsalis Quintet has arrived." The response of the audience was overwhelmingly and deafeningly enthusiastic.

The kids in the quartet basked in the glory of their accomplishment, despite knowing that the current applause and cheers were intended more for Wynton and company than for them. Sporting ecstatic smiles, they waved at the audience, then started to congratulate each other. Fern embraced Arthur, then Francine. When she reached Alan, she grabbed him by the shoulders, pulled him forward...and kissed him directly on the lips.

Alan's eyes bulged. He pulled his face away from Fern's and began to sputter. Fern backed away, her expression one of severe embarrassment. Alan glared at her sternly for several seconds, then grabbed his bass and started to carry it off the stage.

As soon as the kids had removed their instruments, several music hall staffers began to quickly fill the stage with the Marsalis quintet's equipment. Meanwhile, Arthur and Francine greeted Sue Ellen, Van, and Muffy, and saw that the great Wynton himself was signing Sue Ellen's cast with one hand and gripping his trumpet with the other.

"I wanna hear you play when that arm gets better," he told the girl. When he was finished signing, he handed her the pen and strode onto the stage to receive the audience's loudest cheers yet. "Wynton! Wynton!" chanted his adoring fans.

Van had nothing but praise for Arthur and Francine's work. "You guys were fantastic!" he told them.

"I didn't think we could pull it off," said the astonished Francine.

Not far away, Alan and Fern were having an offstage spat.

"What were you thinking?" yelled Alan. "You kissed me in front of thousands of people! You kissed me in front of Wynton Marsalis!"

Fern hung her head in shame. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. But I was so excited, because we played so well, and...oh, Alan, I..."

Alan narrowed his eyes at her. "You...no, don't tell me..."

"I like you, Alan," said Fern sadly. "I've liked you for a long time."

Neither of them spoke for what seemed like half a minute.

"It's okay for you to like me," Alan finally said. "But if you wanted to kiss me, why not some other time and place where we could be alone, and not in front of all those people?"

Fern lowered her eyes and didn't answer.

"Do you know what's gonna happen now?" Alan continued. "You and I will wake up in the morning and look at the front page of the newspaper, and there'll be a huge picture of you kissing me, and the whole city will think we're in love, and all that's_before_ we go to school on Monday!"

"Look, guys," said Muffy to Arthur, Van, Sue Ellen, and Francine as she pointed at Alan and Fern. "They're arguing like two old married people." She began to giggle.

Alan groaned and slapped his forehead. "It's already started."

When he looked up again, Fern had disappeared. He turned his head and saw her racing toward the stage exit, her face buried in her hands. "Silly girl," he muttered callously.

"Well, you hurt her feelings," Muffy informed him. "It was her moment of triumph, and you spoiled it for her."

"She kissed me!" Alan exclaimed angrily.

Muffy waved her hands nonchalantly. "Those show-biz kisses don't mean anything. Why, I was watching the MTV Music Awards once and these two female pop stars..."

"Okay, okay!"

Francine walked up to Muffy and Alan, rubbing her sore wrists. "I thought they'd never show up," she complained. "I thought we'd be out there all night. What took them so long, anyway?"

"They had car trouble," explained Sue Ellen, who was still gazing down at Wynton's signature on her cast. "Lots of car trouble."

"They rented a car to ship their instruments," Van added. "It broke down. So they rented another car, and that one broke down."

"And their instruments kept disappearing," Muffy clarified further.

"Weird," mused Francine.

"Very weird," Alan remarked.

He was still pondering on the weirdness of it all when his mother tucked him into bed after the concert. "Good night, my little jazz idol," said Mrs. Powers, pecking him gently on the cheek.

"G'night, Mom." Alan rolled onto his side as his mother shut off the light. He wished he could simply stay asleep for the next two weeks, until the publicity and rumors about Fern's unsolicited kiss died down.

A dream descended upon his mind so quickly that he wasn't certain whether he had fallen asleep yet.

He was cavorting in a carefree manner through a field of beautiful, fragrant flowers. The sun warmed the skin of his face, and only a few small wisps of clouds could be seen in the sky. It seemed that all was well with the world, that nothing could ever go wrong. He was in a state of utter, blissful innocence.

At the end of the field was a small dirt road, where a figure stood next to a horse-drawn carriage pulled by two wild-looking steeds. Drawing closer, he recognized the figure as a person he longed for with all his heart.

He ran faster, almost stumbling in his haste. And then it suddenly dawned on him that something was wrong with this dream. Terribly, horribly wrong.

Nine hours later he bolted upright, panicked and screaming.

(To be continued...)


	10. Alan's Dream

Alerted by her son's screams, Mrs. Powers burst into his bedroom. "What's the matter?" she exclaimed.  
  
Alan was sitting up in his bed, breathing and sweating heavily. His complexion was pale, as if he had just witnessed an unspeakable horror.  
  
He glanced around, and was surprised to see that the room was well illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the blinds. It was later in the morning than he was accustomed to waking.  
  
"Are you all right?" asked his mother. "Did you have a bad dream?"  
  
Rather than answer, Alan climbed slowly out of his bed, then stood in front of the dresser mirror. He stared at his own reflection for several seconds, as if relieved to discover that he was still himself. Gradually, his breathing returned to normal.  
  
"Do you want to tell me about it?" came his mother's voice.  
  
Alan turned away from the mirror and groaned pathetically. "Oh, Mom, I just had the worst nightmare ever. No, I wouldn't call it a nightmare. It was more like a psychic invasion."  
  
Mrs. Powers approached him and put her arms around him. "It's all right now. You're awake. Now come to breakfast, and you can tell me all about it."  
  
Seated at the kitchen table, Alan poked glumly at his oatmeal. He could hardly keep his bleary eyes open, as the harrowing dream had prevented him from obtaining any rest.  
  
"So, what did you dream about?" asked his mother, who was reading the newspaper on the other end of the table.  
  
Alan looked at the front page of the newspaper, which bore the headline, MARSALIS THRILLS AT NEW MUSIC HALL, and the subheadline, 9-YEAR-OLD SINGER COVERS WHILE MARSALIS DELAYED. There was a large picture of Marsalis playing his trumpet in front of four other musicians, and a smaller picture of Fern singing into the microphone with Arthur, Alan, and Francine in the background.  
  
Mrs. Powers lowered the paper and noticed that Alan was gazing intently at it. "Don't worry," she reassured him. "They didn't say anything about the kiss. Now, why don't you tell me about your dream?"  
  
"Uh, I'd rather not." The memories of his nightmare were so painful, not to mention potentially embarrassing, that he feared to share them with anyone.  
  
"You look really tired," his mother remarked. "Maybe you should go back to bed and sleep some more."  
  
"No!" cried Alan. Somehow he knew that if he slept again, the horror would resume. "I think I'll just go watch some TV," he said in a calmer voice.  
  
A short while later, Alan was sitting on the couch, watching the beginning of a new episode of Bunny League. In the teaser, the seven League members suddenly found themselves in an eerie dream version of New York City, where there were no other people, and stranger still, no cars.  
  
"Great Scott!" exclaimed Bionic Bunny. "This can't be New York. Look at all the empty parking spaces."  
  
"I think this is all a dream," Dark Bunny rejoined. "The question is, whose dream is it?"  
  
"Wait!" Martian Bunny placed his fingers on his temples. "I'm sensing a presence...a being of pure evil..."  
  
As he related his telepathic findings, the League members heard a sinister laugh that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Hawk Bunny gripped her mace tightly, rose into the air, and began to swing it in all directions.  
  
"Fool!" came a man's voice out of nowhere. "You can't fight what you can't see!"  
  
"Who are you?" Amazon Bunny called out.  
  
"I am Doctor Despair," said the malevolent-sounding voice. "You asked whose dream this is. It is mine, and you are prisoners in it...forever! Muwahahahaha!"  
  
Alan groaned incredulously as the opening credits started. "How many times have I seen this plot before?" he muttered.  
  
----  
  
"I think we should wait until Sue Ellen's arm heals before we record an album," Van recommended. "After all, the quartet was her idea."  
  
Van had gathered at the Read house with his musical comrades, which included Sue Ellen, Fern, Arthur, Francine, and Alan, whose head was drooping.  
  
"That could take a long time," Sue Ellen replied. "It'll be another month before I can get the pins out, and then probably another month or two after that before I get the cast off, and then I'm looking at a month or more of physical therapy, and even then my arm may not work as well as it used to."  
  
"And I thought I had it rough when I broke my arm," said Francine.  
  
"I think we should do a few more concerts before we think about recording anything," said Arthur. "What do you think, Alan? Alan?"  
  
Alan suddenly opened his eyes and raised his head. "Two thousand three hundred and eighty-eight!" he blurted out.  
  
"You okay, Alan?" Fern asked him.  
  
Alan shook his head vigorously, struggling to remain conscious. "I...had a really bad nightmare and didn't get any sleep," he responded.  
  
"That happened to me once," said Arthur. "I dreamed I was six inches tall, and D.W. took me and dressed me up in her doll clothes."  
  
"What was it about, Alan?" Francine asked.  
  
"I'd rather not talk about it," said Alan, closing his eyes again.  
  
"Hey, maybe if you tell Prunella about it, she can interpret it for you," Sue Ellen suggested.  
  
"I don't want to tell anybody about it," said Alan groggily. "It's too embarrassing."  
  
Francine grinned. "Oh, come on. You can tell us. We're your friends. We haven't made fun of you and Fern for kissing, have we?"  
  
"Although we probably should," Arthur remarked.  
  
Alan opened his eyes and gritted his teeth.  
  
"Tell us, Alan," Van insisted.  
  
"Just let me get my courage up." Alan took several deep breaths and let them out. The other kids fell silent and listened curiously.  
  
"In my dream...there was me and this girl," he began. "We were in love."  
  
"Was it Fern?" Sue Ellen asked.  
  
Alan ignored her question. "We lived in a place near the ocean where there was nothing but fields of flowers everywhere. We did everything together. We ran through the flowers together, we had picnics on the beach, we swam in the ocean together, and we kissed each other."  
  
"Was it Fern?" Francine inquired.  
  
"Quiet," said Fern. "It's his dream, let him tell it."  
  
"Then one day," Alan went on, "I told this girl that I didn't really love her, that I had met someone better, and that our love could never be. She was utterly heartbroken. She cried and cried."  
  
Sue Ellen started to sniffle. Fern was staring at Alan, her eyes seeming to grow wider with every word he spoke.  
  
"Is that it?" asked Arthur.  
  
"No, there's more," said Alan. He appeared to be suffering physical pain from the recollection. "The girl was so devastated that she...she...she jumped off a cliff into the ocean and drowned."  
  
Fern began to choke. Her friends watched in surprise as she placed her hands over her throat and struggled for breath.  
  
"You all right, Fern?" asked Francine. She jumped from her chair and wrapped her arms around Fern's midsection, preparing to administer the Heimlich maneuver if it became necessary.  
  
"I...I...I'm fine," sputtered Fern, though her expression of shock indicated that she was anything but fine. She breathed with difficulty for a few seconds, then seemed to recover. Francine withdrew her arms and returned to her chair.  
  
"Are you sure you're okay?" Arthur asked Fern.  
  
"Yes," Fern replied. "I...just got a little carried away. Alan's dream was so tragic. That poor girl."  
  
"Hmm," said Francine pensively. "I can see how that would be unpleasant for the girl, but why was it a nightmare for you? All you did was dump her for someone else."  
  
"I haven't told you the worst part of it," said Alan.  
  
The kids became so quiet that it was almost possible to hear their hearts beating.  
  
Alan's voice quivered. "Have you ever had a dream where you're not yourself, but somebody else?"  
  
"Uh, yeah," Arthur answered. "I had a dream once where I was Bionic Bunny."  
  
"That's never happened to me," said Francine. "In my dreams, I'm always me."  
  
Sue Ellen's mouth fell open. "You...you were the girl?"  
  
Alan nodded. "I experienced the whole dream from the girl's point of view."  
  
"That must have been strange," Van remarked.  
  
"It was like I became another person," Alan continued. "I was thinking her thoughts and feeling her feelings. I knew in the back of my mind that I wasn't supposed to be her, but I couldn't control it."  
  
"So when you broke her heart and she jumped into the ocean," Francine observed, "you felt all of it as if you were her. Weird."  
  
"It was very realistic," said Alan. "When I woke up and looked in the mirror, I was afraid I would see Fer..."  
  
He stopped himself in mid-word, and grimaced in shame. His friends stared at him and wondered what he had intended to say.  
  
"Fern?" asked Arthur.  
  
"Or Francine," Sue Ellen suggested.  
  
Fern, more visibly shaken than ever, jumped from her chair. "I need to go," she said in an unnaturally squeaky voice. She then hurried from the living room, nearly knocked over the coat rack while grabbing her overcoat, and exited through the front door.  
  
She threw on her coat and walked briskly along the street, her mind spinning in confused circles. "There's no way he could have known about it," she repeated to herself again and again.  
  
(To be continued...) 


	11. Civil Disobedience

The next morning was Monday, and several more inches of snow had fallen. From her desk in Mr. Pryce-Jones' classroom, Muffy gazed sadly out the window at the crisp white stuff and wished she were frolicking in it. Indeed, she wished she could be anywhere other than within the confining walls of Uppity Downs Academy. 

"...and therefore, we can plainly see that the question, 'Is human nature good or evil?' is ill-posed," droned the teacher. "Your graded history tests are on my desk. Enjoy your recess, everyone."

The pupils began to form a line leading to the stack of papers on Mr. Pryce-Jones' desk. Muffy and Mavis, who had been sitting close to each other near the back of the room, found themselves at the end of the line, as usual.

"Did you find out anything more about Mr. Ratburn?" Mavis asked Muffy.

"As far as I can tell," Muffy replied, "he admitted everything so he could get his girlfriend back. But it doesn't make sense. Why should she go back to him if he's in danger of going to prison?"

"It all sounds very complicated," said Mavis. "Adults have problems that kids like us don't understand, even exceptionally brilliant kids like me."

The line dwindled, and Muffy and Mavis finally picked up their tests. Mavis grunted disinterestedly upon seeing that she had a perfect score, while Muffy felt her heart sink through the floor.

"It's my lowest score ever," she moaned despondently.

Mavis put a hand on her shoulder in a vain attempt to comfort her. "It's all right, Muffy."

"No, I'm afraid it's not all right," said Mr. Pryce-Jones, who was seated behind his desk, cleaning his spectacles. "Muffy, if you want to advance to fifth grade, you'd better start praying for a miracle."

Suddenly angry, Muffy threw her test to the floor. "It's no use!" she cried. "I'll never bring my grades up! I've tried everything!"

"Temper, temper," said Mr. Pryce-Jones, waving a finger at her. Mavis looked at Muffy with sympathy, wondering whether the girl could be helped, or was a lost cause.

Her head bowed, Muffy appeared to be close to tears. Then, unexpectedly, her expression changed to one of grim determination.

"Not everything," she said softly, as if a profound new revelation had struck her mind. "There's one thing I haven't tried."

"What?" Mavis asked her.

The girl who had been distraught only seconds earlier now sported an unworried smile. She felt confident. In control. Empowered.

"Civil," Muffy replied, "disobedience." Having said that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the classroom, leaving her test on the floor.

Mavis started to chase after her. "Muffy, where are you going?"

----

A silent conflict raged in Binky's mind as he sat on a bench by the Lakewood Elementary playground during morning recess.

_If I fight Molly, then she won't be my friend anymore, but Mavis will kiss me_, he thought. _But if I don't fight Molly, then she'll still be my friend, but Mavis won't kiss me. But if I fight Molly, then she won't be my friend anymore, but Mavis will kiss me. But If I don't fight Molly...oh, I'm getting nowhere!_"

As he struggled uselessly against the confusion, he saw Rattles and Molly walking across the playground toward him. Rattles wore a blue jacket that didn't look very warm, while Molly was once again clad in her dark yellow iguana coat.

"Yo, Binkster," Rattles hailed him. "What's going down?"

Binky looked up at the pair without saying a word.

"Hey, I asked you a question, man," said Rattles with a hint of menace.

Gathering his courage, Binky rose to his feet. He was almost identical in height to Rattles, a fact mainly due to his oversized head. "I'd like to talk to Molly alone," he said, his voice quivering slightly.

Rattles gave Binky a blank look, then turned and walked away.

"What is it, Binky?" asked Molly, who was also roughly the same height as Binky (not counting her ears), and unusually well-built for a Lakewood schoolgirl.

"Remember last week when you pushed that girl into a puddle?" Binky asked her.

"Yeah," said Molly, "I remember. She smart-mouthed me. I would have punched her, but she was wearing glasses."

"Well," said Binky, looking Molly straight in the eye, "I've decided that she's my friend after all. In fact, I kinda like her."

"Wait till the swan finds out," said Molly flatly.

Glowering, Binky poked Molly in the chest with his finger. "And I don't like what you did to her. That's why I'm...I'm challenging you to a fight!"

Molly gaped for several moments. Binky imagined that her eyes had gone wide, but it was difficult to tell, as they were covered with hair.

She finally spoke. "You? Want to fight me?"

"Yeah," said Binky. "You got a problem with that?"

"No, I don't." Molly's tone became wistful. "It's just that...you and I have known each other for so long, and I thought you'd never...I'm sorry...this is so sudden..."

"You gonna fight me or not?" growled Binky.

Molly composed herself. "Yes, Binky, of course I'll fight you. When do you want to fight? Wednesdays are best for me."

"Wednesday it is," said Binky. "Morning recess, right here. And don't stand me up, or else."

As Binky walked off, Molly clasped her hands with delight. She raced across the playground, calling, "Rattles! Rattles!"

The boy was leaning against a light pole, staring at a smaller boy who was sitting at a table reading a book. "What?" he said when he saw Molly hurrying toward him.

"Binky challenged me to a fight!" she gushed.

"No way!" said Rattles unbelievingly.

"Yes way!" Molly replied. "Oh, it'll be so exciting! I'll have to put on my worst clothes, and mess up my hair..."

"That's crazy, man," Rattles mused. "I had no idea he thought of you that way."

----

"Today's science lesson is about clouds," announced Mr. Wald. "Who can tell me what the three main types of clouds are?"

Beat raised her hand. "Cirrus, cumulus, and stratus."

"Very good, Beat," said the teacher. "Go to the head of the class. Oh, wait, you're already there." The kids chuckled.

At that moment the door to the classroom opened, and to everyone's surprise, Muffy Crosswire walked in. She strolled over to a desk and sat down as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

"Uh, welcome back, Muffy," Mr. Wald greeted her. "I wasn't notified that you had transferred back to our school."

"I haven't," replied Muffy. She grinned and waved at Van, who waved back.

Mr. Wald appeared puzzled for a moment, then resumed his lesson. "The highest clouds in the atmosphere are cirrus clouds, which are made up of ice crystals..."

Shortly the bell rang, and the pupils started to file out the door. Muffy tried to use the opportunity to talk with Van, but Mr. Wald laid a hand on her shoulder. "Come with me, Muffy," he said in a stern, teacher-like voice.

Being taken to the principal's office was, more or less, what she had expected. Once she was finished there, she told herself, she would take her battle to the school board, then the Supreme Court, then the United Nations...

"You can't just walk down the street from one school to another," Mr. Haney informed her. "Your academic records are at Uppity Downs. For you to come back here, your records would have to be transferred, and you need your parents' permission for that to happen."

"Which I won't get," Muffy retorted. "But it doesn't matter. I'm doomed to repeat fourth grade either way, so why not go to my old school, where I get more out of the lectures, and I can be with my friends?"

"I'm not the one to decide that," said the principal. "It's for your parents to decide. Speaking of which, here they are now."

The door to Mr. Haney's office flew open, and Ed and Millicent Crosswire entered. Muffy greeted her furious-looking father with a self-assured smile.

"Playing hooky is unacceptable behavior for a Crosswire," he growled. "You're coming with us, and you're going back to Uppity Downs. I don't want to hear any arguments."

Muffy climbed down from the chair and folded her arms defiantly. "And what if I don't want to? What will you do? Lecture me? Ground me? Cut my allowance? No punishment is worse than going back to that awful school."

Several minutes later, as Fern was walking toward Mr. Wald's classroom, she saw Muffy sitting on a bench, sobbing bitterly. Compassion filled her heart as she hurried to the girl's side. "Muffy, what's wrong?"

Muffy looked up at Fern; her eyes were gushing with tears.

"My...my dad hit me!"

(To be continued...)


	12. The Night Watch

As Fern tried to comfort the weeping Muffy, several other fourth graders, including Arthur, Francine, and Beat, gathered around them. They were soon joined by Mr. Haney and Muffy's parents. 

"Muffy, let's go," said Mrs. Crosswire.

Fern, now indignant, jumped up from the bench and glared at the Crosswires. "Why do you have to send her to that school?" she bellowed. "Can't you see it's killing her?"

"You don't understand," said Muffy's father emotionlessly.

"Mr. Crosswire, if you want to force someone to attend Uppity Downs, force me," Beat said to him. "I'll gladly go."

Pretending not to hear, the man grabbed his daughter by the arm and yanked her to her feet. Accompanied by his wife, he led Muffy toward the school exit as the kids watched with a mixture of fear and resentment.

"Child beater!" Fern yelled after them.

----

"There must be something we can do to help Muffy," said Arthur to his friends, who were gathered at the Sugar Bowl. "She's so miserable at that school."

"She's miserable at home, too," Francine observed. "Her dad's so stressed out about the lawsuit that he doesn't pay attention to her anymore."

"But what can we do against someone who has so much money?" asked Fern rhetorically.

"Okay, Beat," said Arthur to Beat, who sat across from him. "You're the smart one. How do we help Muffy?"

Beat became pensive for a moment. "Well, seeing that my father is suing her father, I'm not in a good position to offer assistance. However, there may be something that the rest of you can do if you pitch in together."

"What's that?" asked Francine.

Beat opened her mouth, and then her cell phone rang. "Excuse me," she said, jumping down from the table.

She flipped open her phone while walking out of the shop. "Hello?"

"This is Mr. Pryce-Jones," came a man's voice.

Beat smiled with joy. "You've never called me before. It must be something important. Did you find a way to enroll me?"

"Possibly," replied Pryce-Jones. Beat felt an urge to leap into the air and click her heels. "I've talked to my superiors, and they say they would like to meet you and get to know you better."

"Fab!" exclaimed Beat. "When?"

"Thursday, after school."

"I'll be there." Beat closed her cell phone and started to skip down the sidewalk, crying, "Yes! Yes!"

Meanwhile, Arthur, Francine, and Fern sat silently at their table, wondering about the nature of Beat's brilliant idea.

Fern sighed. "I don't think she's coming back."

----

The day passed, and the night arrived. The temperature had dipped into the low 10s by midnight. Most of Elwood City's inhabitants were resting in warm beds, but Dick Reno, a blond-haired cat man who served as a security guard at the Crosswire Motors lot at Fith and Lopez, had no such privilege.

He tried to entertain himself through the long, lonely hours of the night shift by eating donuts and watching TV. On this particular occasion he was munching on a chocolate cruller and flipping through the channels, looking for something better to watch than infomercials and sleazy movies.

Then he heard a very unwelcome sound...the breaking of glass.

At first he wasn't sure what to think. The lot was well lighted, and he had seen no intruders approach. Had the noise come from a neighboring building?

Another sound reached his ears. This time it was the impact of a blunt object with metal. Before he had a chance to make a judgment, the sound repeated itself.

Swearing under his breath, he laid down the donut and the remote control, and threw open the door of his security booth. He cast his eyes in all directions, and saw nobody in the lot. _Maybe they're hiding_, he thought.

He began to walk around the rows of used cars, carefully checking the spaces between the cars for unbidden guests. Nothing. Nothing.

Then he heard glass breaking again. He whirled.

He didn't believe what he was seeing.

Just four cars away, a large sledgehammer was repeatedly swinging against a gray Pontiac, crushing glass and denting metal.

Nobody was swinging the sledgehammer.

(To be continued...)


	13. Fern Makes a List

"Stop!" cried Dick Reno as he drew his gun from its holster. "Stop or I'll shoot!" 

The ghostly sledgehammer ceased from pounding the gray Pontiac, and started to float through the air in Dick's direction. While backing away, the guard fired two shots at it. The sledgehammer plummeted to the ground, producing a few sparks where it made contact with the asphalt.

Dick wasn't sure what he had done, or whether he was safe, but he knew that something sinister was happening, and he would need help. He grabbed the cell phone from his belt and flipped it open. Before he could dial a number, an invisible force ripped the phone from his hand and tossed it a dozen yards away.

Frantic, Dick started to run toward the spot where the phone had landed, but the phantom sledgehammer rose up from the ground and flew past him. Before he could reach the phone, the large hammer swung at it and smashed it to pieces.

He could not call for help. Bullets were useless. The only method he hadn't tried was brute force. As the hammer began to dent the hood of a blue Chevy Cutlass, he rushed to the scene and wrapped his hands around it. It wasn't long before he realized that he had made a big mistake.

The sledgehammer ascended into the air, dragging the guard along with it. He soon found that his feet were several yards above the surface of the lot. It became clear that holding on might mean his death, so he let go. He landed on his left ankle. Pain shot up through his leg, and he fell onto his left side.

Injured and powerless, Dick Reno watched as the floating sledgehammer proceeded to demolish another car...

----

It was around 1:30 a.m. when the phone rang in Ed Crosswire's bedroom, waking him and his wife from a peaceful slumber. "This had better be important," he grumbled as he answered the call.

"Vandals," came a man's voice. "They've ruined dozens of cars on both lots. One of the guards broke his ankle. He's saying something about a ghost with a sledgehammer."

Mr. Crosswire pushed down the anger that was welling up in his heart. "I'll be there right away, Steve."

----

Within half an hour, Ed Crosswire was in the security booth at the Fifth and Lopez lot along with Steve Fossum, an opossum man who managed the lot. Several police officers were examining the damaged vehicles, taking fingerprints and snapping pictures.

"Dick's been taken to the hospital," Steve informed Mr. Crosswire. "He claims he saw a sledgehammer floating around, like a ghost or an invisible man was carrying it. He shot at the thing, but nothing happened."

"He must have been on something," said Mr. Crosswire irritably. "I'll send him a get-well card with a pink slip."

"Not so fast, Ed," Steve rejoined. "The security cameras bear out his story. Take a look."

Steve pressed a button to replay the security video. To Mr. Crosswire's surprise and horror, the tape showed Dick Reno firing at a large sledgehammer that was hovering in the air. He watched for several more minutes, until some policemen who had heard the shots came to assist the injured guard.

He shook his head unbelievingly. "There must be an explanation. Maybe he modified the tapes to make himself look good."

"He didn't have time," Steve told him.

"What am I supposed to tell the insurance inspectors?" Mr. Crosswire's voice rose to an angry pitch. "That an invisible floating man vandalized my cars with a sledgehammer? There has to be an explanation!"

"I won't rest until I find one," said Steve with a discernible lack of confidence.

----

Ed Crosswire slept no more that night. When morning came, the news of the attacks on the Crosswire lots spread through the city like a virus. Local news teams showed endless footage of the damaged cars, as well as interviews with the guards. Crosswire Motors gained more publicity that day than any previous day, but that didn't soothe the angry, offended feelings of Mr. Crosswire.

What little time he spent in his mansion that morning, he used to rant against his real and supposed enemies in front of his wife and daughter.

"My enemies are combining against me!" he bellowed. "They all want a piece of my hard-earned fortune. They don't want to work for it like I did. If they think they can frighten me with such a petty act of terrorism, they're wrong!"

Muffy made no attempt to flee from Uppity Downs that day. She spent most of her spare time complaining to Mavis, and anyone else who would listen, about her father's behavior.

"I don't know my own father anymore," she said to Mavis as they sat in the academy's cafeteria. "I used to think he was the most honest and hard-working man in the world, but now he's acting just like a child. If that's what being rich does to people, I think I'd rather be poor."

At Lakewood, Fern and George had been stirred to a renewed interest in the strange occurrences that had happened prior to the Crosswire attacks. Seated at a table during lunch hour, Fern was preparing a list of the events with George's assistance.

"Number one," Fern began. "I went into the Tibble cellar to investigate some strange noises. I saw a yellow blob that surrounded me, and then disappeared." She began to write. "Yellow...blob."

"Number two," said George. "Something in the house scares Trixie Tibble, and she runs away. The reverend says she claimed to hear noises and see stuff moving."

"Number three," said Fern. "Trixie Tibble goes to a hotel with the twins. When she gets to her room, she finds a note telling her to give the twins back."

"What did the note say?" George inquired.

"I'm not sure exactly," Fern replied.

"I'll try to get in touch with Trixie and get a copy of the note," George offered.

"That might help," said Fern. "Number four. Reverend Fulsome goes into the house to exorcise it, but someone pulls down his pants."

"And it wasn't you," George quipped.

Fern chuckled as she wrote down another item.

"Number five," said George. "Wynton Marsalis and his musicians have weird accidents on their way to the concert."

"I'll contact the agency that rented the cars," said Fern. "If I'm lucky, maybe I can even talk to Wynton Marsalis about the disappearing instruments." She continued to write. "Number six. Alan has a weird nightmare."

"I never heard about this one," said George.

"On the night of the concert, Alan had a really bizarre nightmare. From the way he described it, my guess is someone was haunting his dreams."

"What was it about?"

Fern hesitated. "It...was about him being in love with a girl."

"Which girl?"

"He didn't say. I'll ask him for more details later."

"Okay," said George. "Number seven. An invisible person with a sledgehammer smashes cars at Crosswire Motors."

Fern wrote down the last item. "That's all of them, I think."

"So what do we do now?" asked George.

"We do what Sherlock Holmes would do," Fern answered. "We look for clues, and we look for a pattern."

"A pattern?"

"Yes. We look for things that all of these events have in common. That may tell us something about the culprit."

"Oh, I get it." George thought for a moment. "Wait. There's one thing they all have in common."

"What's that?"

"They're all creepy and could have been done by ghosts."

Fern gave him a condescending look. "George, have you ever watched Spooky Poo?"

"No."

"It's an old cartoon about a bunch of kids and a kangaroo who go around solving mysteries. At the end of every episode, they pull the mask off the ghost or monster, and it's just a crook in a costume."

George lowered his eyes. "Okay, I get your point."

Fern looked up at the wall clock. "Oh, darn. Lunch hour's almost over. I'll make a copy of the list and give it to you, and we can talk more about it after school."

"Sure," said George.

----

Having finished another day on the job at the electronics store, Angela Ratburn arrived at the apartment which she shared with Jean Stiles. Upon opening the door, she noticed a small envelope lying on the floor with the name Angela written on the front.

She picked it up and tore it open. Inside was a Valentine's Day greeting card. _A little early_, she thought.

Then she opened the card. Underneath the romantic message was written, in crude cursive handwriting:

PACK YOUR THINGS. YOU'RE LEAVING TOWN TOMORROW. MC

----

In the computer room of the Nordgren residence, George sat on an office chair, staring at a copy of the list that Fern had made. "Gotta find a pattern," he repeated obsessively. "Gotta find a pattern." But no patterns occurred to him, other than the obvious spectral nature of each event on the list.

After he had spent over an hour at this activity, his ears were greeted by a welcome sound--the ringing of the fax machine. He pushed his chair away from the desk and toward the machine, which soon started to churn out a sheet with writing on it.

The message at the top of the sheet, written in graceful, ornate cursive with hearts dotting the I's, was this: GEORGE, HERE IS A COPY OF THE NOTE I FOUND IN THE HOTEL ROOM. HOPE THIS HELPS. TRIXIE TIBBLE.

Below this was a message in a different hand, consisting of crude capital letters: TOMMY AND TIMMY BELONG TO ME. GIVE THEM BACK OR ELSE.

George swiveled in his chair and placed the fax sheet next to Fern's list. He pondered the wording on the mysterious note, and could think of nothing especially remarkable about it.

Once again he went over the items in Fern's list, trying to think of some connection between a particular item and the note that had been left in the hotel.

Then it came to him.

He looked at the mysterious note.

He looked at Fern's list.

"Oh...my...gosh..."

(Next chapter: The ghost unmasked!)


	14. The Ghost Unmasked

As he pored over a math book, Alan felt his mind wandering back to the intense nightmare he had experienced two nights earlier. He felt grateful that his dreams since then had been pleasant. 

He struggled to focus his attention on his homework. "If one train leaves Los Angeles traveling at 50 mph and another train leaves New York City traveling at 40 mph..."

He became distracted again, and began to wonder if success as a jazz musician might stand in the way of his scientific career.

The phone rang. "Alan, it's for you," called his mother.

Rising wearily from his desk, Alan trudged to the living room and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Alan, this is George. I've got a really important question for you."

"What is it?"

"Fern told me you had a weird nightmare about a girl. Who was the girl?"

Alan was taken aback by the question. It had been a traumatic, highly personal experience, yet here was a boy who wanted him to reveal its most intimate detail...over the phone.

_Everybody probably knows already,_ he thought.

"Fern," he told George.

"Yeah," George replied, "Fern told me you had a weird nightmare."

"Yes, I know. Fern was the girl. I was the girl. I was Fern."

Alan heard a few seconds of silence.

"I suspected as much," came George's voice.

"What's this all about?" asked Alan.

----

The following morning, Fern was making her way to Mr. Wald's room when she ran into Alan in the center court. The boy seemed to become frightened when he saw her.

"Uh...hi, Fern," he said nervously. "Look, I'm really sorry for hurting your feelings the other night, and if you'd like, I'll make it up to you by treating you to a sundae at the Sugar Bowl."

A bright smile spread over Fern's face. She felt her heart leaping for joy. Then she became suspicious. "Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?" she asked.

Alan's anxiety increased. "Uh, well, I know you like me, and I sorta like you too, and the kiss at the concert turned out to be no big thing..."

Fern smiled again. "Sure. Thanks, Alan."

Telling herself that Alan's erratic behavior was normal and natural for a fifth-grader in love, Fern continued on her way. She soon happened upon another of her good friends. "Hey, Sue Ellen," she called.

Sue Ellen turned around and gasped with fright when she saw Fern.

"What's the matter?" Fern asked her.

"Uh, nothing," Sue Ellen replied, smiling insincerely. "You just surprised me."

Fern walked away, marveling that the usually fearless Sue Ellen would be frightened by someone merely walking up to her.

When she arrived in the classroom, the kids who were present, including Arthur, Francine, Binky, and George, gave her fearful looks. She sensed them secretly whispering to each other as she seated herself at a desk.

So it continued for the better part of the school day. No matter where Fern went, her friends and fellow students regarded her with trepidation. Some of them were considerably nicer to her than normal.

"When I called you a mouse back in third grade," Francine said to her, "I meant it in the best possible way."

"That's nice to know," Fern responded. The two girls were enjoying themselves on the seesaw during afternoon recess.

It was soon time to return to class, and Fern entered the school building to find Van waiting for her. "Hey, Fern, can I talk to you?" asked the duck boy, swiveling his wheelchair to face her.

"Sure, Van," Fern replied.

Van spoke in a hushed tone. "There's a rumor going around about you. Maybe you're aware of it."

"No, I'm not."

"Some kids are saying you have mystical powers," Van told her. "Some other kids think you're a ghost. Now I know you're not, because..."

Fern became indignant. "That's silly. Everybody knows there's no such thing as ghosts." Then a thought occurred to her. "Everybody except...George..."

Van watched as Fern marched away. _Oh, I think someone's gonna get hurt_, he thought.

When she arrived at Mr. Wald's room, she found that all the other pupils were seated at their desks, including George. "George, I want to talk to you," she proclaimed loudly. The teacher looked up from his papers, distracted by the outburst.

"Uh, sure, Fern," said George in a worried voice.

"Would you mind telling me why the kids think I'm a ghost?" she demanded.

George began to tremble. Then he slowly stiffened his resolve. Picking up two sheets of paper from the top of his desk, he stood and approached Fern with halting steps.

"Who are you," he asked firmly, "and what have you done with Fern Walters?"

Fern narrowed her eyes angrily.

"Take a look at this," George went on. He held out the two sheets of paper, one in each hand. "Exhibit A. The note that was left in Trixie Tibble's hotel room. Exhibit B. The list you wrote yesterday. Do you see a pattern?"

As Fern looked back and forth between the two papers, she indeed recognized a similarity. Her jaw dropped in shock.

The handwriting was identical!

Stunned, Fern took a step backwards. "No...it's not possible! I didn't write that! I've never been to that hotel!"

George walked closer to Fern. "It all makes sense now," he said with assurance. "You don't like the Tibble twins' mother. You think you could do a better job of raising them. It was you who scared her away from her house. It was you who left the note at the hotel."

"That's a lie!" Fern shouted. Mr. Wald debated whether to silence the two children, or to wait and see where their exchange was headed.

By this time George was face to face with Fern, staring into her eyes fearlessly. "It was you who caused the breakdowns that made the Wynton Marsalis Quintet late for the concert," he claimed boldly. "You wanted a chance to sing in front of thousands of people and become a star."

Barely containing her outrage, Fern grabbed George by the antlers and pulled his face closer to hers. "Now you listen to me, George. I'm going to say this slowly so you'll understand. There's. No. Such. Thing. As. Ghosts."

She released his antlers, and the moose boy went on with his accusations as if nothing had happened. "You invaded Alan's dreams. You wanted to get back at him for getting mad at you when you kissed him."

Fern clenched her fists. "Shut up, George! I'm warning you!"

"And you were angry at Mr. Crosswire because of how he treated Muffy, so you wrecked the cars in his lot."

"SHUT...UP!" shrieked Fern.

Before George had a chance to speak again, he felt something lifting him up by the collar of his shirt. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, as many a bully had given him such a treatment. What made this occasion unusual was that nobody was there.

"Huh? What...what's happening?" stammered George as he felt his feet rise up from the floor.

Fern screamed and backed away. It appeared that an invisible hand had grasped the front of George's shirt, and was lifting him into the air. The other kids gasped and cried out in horror, while Mr. Wald jumped to his feet and gaped.

When George had been levitated halfway to the ceiling, his head suddenly jerked to the left. The boy grimaced and wailed in pain. Then his head jerked to the right. To the left. To the right. All eyes were fixed on him as the unseen force struck him repeatedly and forcefully on the cheeks.

"It's Fern!" cried Francine. "She's killing George!"

Fern, rooted to the spot by fright, could only squeak, "It's not me...I'm not doing this..."

Mr. Wald sprang into action, trying to grab George and pull him to the floor, but the boy floated away from his grasp. George's head stopped jerking from side to side, but he was now bouncing from one wall to another, each impact knocking the wind out of him. The teacher tried in vain to catch him, as the transfixed students followed his motions as if they were watching a tennis match.

"Stop!" Fern cried out. "I command you to stop!"

As soon as she had spoken, George plummeted toward the floor and landed in a bruised heap. Groaning, he pushed himself into a sitting position, brushed the dirt from his clothes, and reached for his right antler, which had broken off from the impact.

The kids and the teacher looked back and forth between George and Fern, not knowing what to believe or even if what they had just witnessed was real.

Fern burst into terrified sobs. "I didn't do it...it wasn't me..."

(To be continued...)


	15. Angela Runs

Angela Ratburn told her manager at the electronics store that she wasn't feeling well, so she left the job two hours early. By the time Muffy arrived at her apartment, she had already packed two medium-sized suitcases.

"Let's get out of here as quickly as we can," said the woman as she opened the door to greet Muffy. "Jean will be back before long."

The two exchanged few words as they left the apartment building and walked toward the parked limo. Angela found that toting her suitcases was somewhat more difficult than usual, most likely as a result of her advancing pregnancy.

Once they were seated across from each other in the back of Muffy's limousine, the girl pulled a train token from her pocket and handed it to Angela. She then gave an order to the chauffeur. "To the train station at the end of town, Bailey."

"Yes, Miss Muffy," said the chauffeur compliantly.

They exchanged glib pleasantries as they drove through the city. Neither dared to speak what was on her mind, lest Bailey should become suspicious.

After about half an hour, they arrived in the parking lot in front of the train station. "Wait here, Bailey," Muffy ordered. Angela grabbed her suitcases and climbed out of the limo, with Muffy following.

"Can I follow you into the station?" Muffy asked Angela.

"I don't see why not," Angela replied.

The train station was filled with crowds of commuters, making it hard for Angela to maneuver through them with her suitcases, and even harder for Muffy to keep up with her without being separated. Muffy had never seen the inside of a train station before; the closest she had come was a visit to the Crown City subway.

They finally arrived at the platform where the outbound train would soon pick up its passengers.

"I'm really gonna miss you, Angela," said Muffy wistfully as she and the rat woman seated themselves on a bench. "When I first met you, I thought you were a bad person and that I shouldn't have anything to do with you. But now I see that it's people like Nigel, who only care about punishing you and making you suffer...those are the people I shouldn't have anything to do with."

"I'll miss you too, Muffy," said Angela emotionally.

A long silence fell between them as they watched for the train to appear.

"So," Muffy said to Angela, "what do you think you'll do now?"

"I don't know for sure," Angela replied. "I'll come up with something. I'll find a way to survive, like I always have before."

An aardvark man smoking a cigarette took a seat next to Muffy and Angela. Several minutes later they heard a roaring sound in the distance, and the outbound train rolled down the tracks in their direction.

As the train screeched to a stop, Muffy, Angela, the aardvark man, and dozens of other passengers stood and formed a mob in front of the train's sliding door. Angela bent her knees, put her arms around Muffy, and began to sniffle. "Thanks for everything," she half-whispered.

"If you ever need help, just call me," Muffy told her.

Within moments, Angela had entered the train and inserted her token into the receptacle. The conductor waved his hand, allowing her to pass. She carefully maneuvered through the throng of seated and standing passengers, feeling slightly insecure because of the many unshaven, beastly-looking men surrounding her.

All the seats were filled, so she rested her suitcases at her feet, wrapped her hand around a railing, and held tightly as the train began to move. Within seconds she was speeding down the tracks, headed for an uncertain destination.

Then she heard a familiar voice from behind her back. "Excuse me, everyone, but can my mom have a seat? She's pregnant."

As a sitting man quickly rose to his feet to allow Angela to occupy his seat, the woman turned around...and gasped in shock.

Muffy Crosswire was standing before her, smiling as if nothing were wrong.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" she asked Angela.

After several seconds of confused hesitation, Angela quickly placed herself in the seat that the man had vacated. She then grabbed Muffy by the arm and pulled the girl into her lap. "What are you doing here?" she whispered hoarsely into Muffy's ear.

"Figure it out," Muffy whispered back.

It only took Angela a second to do so. "You're running away!"

"So are you," said Muffy quietly and nonchalantly.

Angela sputtered and struggled for words. "You're crazy!" she whispered in outrage. "You may be rich, but you can't survive on your own!"

"Which is why I'm coming with you."

"You are_not_ coming with me!" The livid Angela struggled to keep her voice low so that the other passengers wouldn't understand her words. "By this time tomorrow, the whole country will be looking for you! And when they find you, they'll find me!"

"But I don't want to be found," said Muffy. "And it's only for three months anyway. By that time you'll be safe from the law, and hopefully my dad will wise up."

"Listen to me, Muffy. When we get to the next station, you are going to get off the train, take the inbound train back into town, hop in your limo, and go home. Unless you do that, I'm not responsible for what happens to you. Do you understand that?"

"No, you listen to me," Muffy retorted. "If I can't go with you, then I'll tell everybody who you are, and the police will arrest you, and you'll go to prison, and your baby will be born in prison."

Angela strained her mind to think of a rejoinder as the train came to a stop at another station.

----

In the aftermath of the bizarre attack on George, the moose boy was sent to a doctor so that his bumps and bruises could be attended to. Fern, scared half out of her wits by the occurrence, was excused from school for the remainder of the day. The befuddled kids in Mr. Wald's class could think of no other way to deal with such a paranormal event, so they gathered in Prunella's attic after school.

Arthur, Francine, Sue Ellen, George, Marina, Alan, Binky, and Beat were present (Van didn't come because there was no ramp leading into the attic) with Prunella and her teenage sister Rubella, when Fern hesitantly climbed the stairs into the dimly lit room. She looked at the crystal ball table at which the two Prufrock girls were seated, the occultic symbols hanging on the walls, and the anxious looks of the other kids. She had never imagined that something like this--a supernatural disorder--would befall her.

"Is that her?" asked Marina.

"It's her," replied the one-antlered George, whose head was bandaged in various locations.

"She looks normal to me," Francine remarked.

"Welcome, Fern," Rubella called to her. She gestured toward an empty wooden chair on the other side of the crystal ball table.

Still nervous about the procedure she was about to endure, Fern slowly walked to the table and seated herself. She noted that no electric lights had been turned on; the only light in the room was provided by a few strangely shaped candles in the corners.

"Do not be afraid," said Rubella in a calming, mystical tone. "You will leave this room with a great burden lifted from your soul." Fern found the older girl's pretentious avoidance of verbal contractions to be off-putting.

Alan raised his hand. "Hey, Rubella, before you start, can I ask Fern a question?"

"Of course," Rubella answered. "Questions are encouraged."

Alan spoke haltingly. "Fern, did you...did you really fantasize about jumping into the ocean and drowning yourself because I didn't return your love?"

Fern looked at Alan quietly for a few seconds. "Yes," she finally admitted. Then she took a deep breath and continued. "Sue Ellen's not the only one who keeps a diary. I keep one too, but I don't carry it around with me, and I don't show it to anyone. Just a week ago, I wrote a story in my diary that was exactly like the dream you had. The fields of flowers, the picnics on the beach...everything was the same, including the part where I threw myself off a cliff into the ocean."

The kids gazed at Fern in speechless wonder.

Fern's voice started to break. "But I would never do that in real life. Please believe me. I would never hurt anyone."

"We believe you," said Rubella. "Now, if there are no more questions, we will proceed. Fern, I want you to look directly into my eyes."

Fern did so. The flickering light of a candle reflected in the young psychic's pupils.

"Fern, I want you to look into my eyes, and I want you to think about the most relaxing thing in the world. Think about listening to a beautiful piece of music, or reading a lovely poem about walking through the countryside and smelling the fragrant flowers. Are you thinking about that?"

"Yes," replied Fern.

"Good. Now keep thinking about it. Think about how relaxing it is. Think about how much you'd rather be doing that than sitting here being hypnotized. Because it's so relaxing. It's the most relaxing thing in the world. You want to do it forever. It relaxes every part of your body. It relaxes your feet, it relaxes your legs, it relaxes your arms..."

Fern felt herself becoming drowsy. She didn't understand all of the words that Rubella was speaking.

"...it relaxes your neck, it relaxes your head, it relaxes your eyes..."

As the kids watched breathlessly, Fern's eyelids drooped and closed. She appeared to be asleep, but was still holding her head upright.

"Are you relaxed, Fern?" asked Rubella in a hushed voice.

"Yes," responded Fern in a monotonic voice.

"Good. Now open your eyes. I want to ask you a few relaxing questions."

Fern's eyelids popped open.

Rubella held up the copy of the mysterious note, which George had given her. "Question number one. Did you leave this note in Trixie Tibble's hotel room?"

"Yes," replied Fern. The kids gasped with surprise.

"Question number two. Did you make Wynton Marsalis and his quintet late for the concert last week?"

"Yes," Fern answered. The kids looked at each other unbelievingly.

"Question number three. Did you influence Alan's dreams, causing him to act out your fantasy of drowning yourself because he didn't return your love?"

"Yes."

"Question number four. Did you use a sledgehammer to wreck the cars in the Crosswire used car lots?"

"Yes."

The kids murmured to each other. "She couldn't have done those things," Beat whispered to Francine. "I think Rubella's manipulating her."

"Now, Fern," Rubella went on, "I have one last question for you. How did you do all those things? How did you know which hotel room Trixie Tibble would go to? How did you get there before she did?"

Fern became nervous and confused. "Uh...I don't know..."

"How did you make Wynton Marsalis late for the concert? You were at the music hall the whole time. Everybody saw you."

"Um...uh...I'm not sure..." Fern stammered.

"How did you go into Alan's dreams? How did you turn invisible and smash the cars in the Crosswire lots? The security guard shot at you. Why werent' you wounded?"

Fern glanced around nervously and didn't answer.

Then a shining yellow mist began to rise from her body. The observing kids gasped at the sight...it seemed as if Fern was boiling, or undergoing some sort of chemical reaction.

The swirling mist rose until it came near the ceiling, then started to coalesce into a shape that gradually became more defined.

The kids blinked in disbelief. Hovering in the air several feet above Fern was a girl who looked exactly like her in every way, except for the ectoplasmic aura surrounding her body.

Rubella smiled in triumph. "Just as I thought. A grimmel."

(To be continued...)


	16. What's a Grimmel?

"What's a grimmel?" asked the floating duplicate of Fern. She spoke with Fern's voice, but with an ethereal quality to it. 

"You're a grimmel," Rubella answered, looking up at her.

"No, I'm not," the apparition retorted. "I'm Fern. You know me."

"The Fern I know doesn't float," said Rubella.

"Yeah, it's weird, isn't it?" The ghostly girl started to flutter around the attic, and seemed to enjoy herself greatly. "I went into the cellar in the Tibble house, and there was this weird mist, and then I could fly, and go through walls, and do all kinds of cool things."

The gathered kids watched with a mixture of fear and awe as the phantom Fern flew in circles around the room. The non-spectral Fern sat rigidly in her chair, apparently oblivious to the spook's presence.

Shortly the phantom ceased her display of aereal acrobatics, and began to hover above Rubella. "Yes, I did all those things," she said in an echoing voice. "I didn't want Tommy and Timmy to be raised by that stupid, careless woman, so I scared her away. And then that blowhard reverend tried to cast me out, but I taught him a lesson. And I thought about how wonderful it would be if Wynton Marsalis showed up late, and I got to sing in front of the audience, and not just in the lobby. So I made it happen."

She then floated to where the children were seated, and lowered herself until she was staring into the frightened Alan's face. "And you," she growled. "I finally got up the nerve to kiss you, but you treated me like a tramp!" Her voice became tender. "I love you, Alan! Why can't you see that? Why won't you notice me?"

Sniffling, the ghost Fern flew back to the crystal ball table and glared at Rubella. "And as if all that wasn't bad enough," she said furiously, "that tyrant Ed Crosswire forced Muffy to attend Uppity Downs, even though it meant she would have to repeat fourth grade! And when she didn't go along with it, he hit her! He hit her! I couldn't stand it! So I took the sledgehammer from my dad's garage, and I started smashing the cars in his lot. I kept smashing cars until I got tired of it. The guard tried to shoot me, but the bullets went right through."

The kids sat motionless in their chairs, bewildered beyond all belief by the apparition's confessions. Rubella rose to her feet and stared firmly at the ghost, who countered with a defiant scowl.

"I have another question for you," said the rat girl. "How many Ferns do you see in this room?"

"One," replied the ghost Fern.

"I see two," Rubella countered.

"Okay, if you want to get technical about it, yes, you can see two Ferns." The ghost Fern backed away from Rubella and hovered above the solid Fern. Then, unexpectedly, the two Ferns began to speak in unison. "But there's really only one of me."

Rubella folded her arms smugly. "You asked me what a grimmel is. It's about time I answered that question. A grimmel is a formless spirit that binds itself to a mortal, taking on that person's appearance and personality. It has no will of its own, but is compelled to carry out the person's subconscious desires. That's what you are. You are not Fern. You are a grimmel."

The ghost Fern gaped at her incredulously. "That's not true!" she and the solid Fern cried together. "I look like Fern! I feel like Fern! I_am_ Fern!"

"Remember when you went into Alan's dream and made him think he was Fern?" asked Rubella. "He looked like Fern and felt like Fern, but that didn't make him Fern. And it doesn't make you Fern, either."

The ghost Fern started to gnash her teeth. The yellow aura surrounding her seemed to increase in size and brightness. The other kids began to shiver with fright.

"The real Fern would never do the things you did," Rubella insisted. "She may fantasize about doing those things, but she would never really do them, because she knows better. But you're different. You have no inhibitions. You're the dark side of Fern."

Rubella fell silent. The ghost Fern gradually calmed down. Then, as the astonished children stared in wonder, both of the Ferns simultaneously burst into tears.

They wept uncontrollably for what seemed like a minute, then managed to choke out a few sentences between their tears. "This is all wrong!" they sobbed in unison. "How could I do those things? I'm not really Fern! I'm some kind of evil spirit!"

"Grimmels aren't evil," Rubella reassured her.

"I...I remember now," said the ghost Fern, and this time the solid Fern didn't speak along with her. "I was bound to Grandma Tibble before she died. I never did anything wrong, because she was a kindly old woman who never wished bad on anyone. After she died, I floated around in the cellar until Fern came along."

Rubella smiled and nodded.

"I don't want to be Fern anymore," said the spirit. "How do I get free? Do I have to wait until she dies?"

"Only you can answer that," Rubella replied. "Search your heart."

The ghost Fern closed her eyes tightly. She clenched her fists. After several seconds of intense concentration, she opened her eyes, relaxed, and smiled.

Her body began to fade. Wisps of yellow smoke ascended from her, swirling and growing thicker. Her clothes gradually dissolved, followed by her hands and face. Soon nothing was left of her but a glowing, pulsating cloud, which itself started to vanish into nothingness.

"Goodbye, my friends," came Fern's voice from the disappearing cloud. "Thank you."

The wordless, motionless children slowly recovered from their shock and amazement. They barely understood what they had witnessed, but it had been a spectacular display. "Whoooooa," said George reverently.

Rubella snapped her fingers in front of the entranced Fern, and she started to shake her head. "Huh? What happened?" She ran her fingers over her cheeks. "I've been crying!"

"It's over," Prunella told her. "Everything will be all right now."

(For Fern, that is...)


	17. The Fight of the Century

The next morning, a number of the kids who had witnessed the events at Prunella's house were gathered in the Lakewood center court before the beginning of classes. They included Fern, George, Alan, Arthur, Francine, and Beat. George's right antler had been reattached to its stump with bandages and tape.  
  
"It's so embarrassing," Fern reflected. "To think that a ghost was floating around, carrying out my secret fantasies. So, now that you know all this about me, do you still like me?"  
  
"Uh...I'll have to think about that one," Francine replied. "Oh, of course I still like you, Fern."  
  
"It's no big deal," said Arthur. "If a ghost started acting on my fantasies, D.W. would be in big, big trouble."  
  
"We all have things we hide from each other," Beat observed.  
  
"Do you believe in ghosts now, Fern?" George asked.  
  
"I believe in one ghost," Fern answered. "It must be a horrible existence, to be bound to someone, and have to do whatever they imagine in their subconscious whether you like it or not."  
  
Arthur glanced down at his Bionic Bunny watch. "Oh, look at the time."  
  
"Yeah, we'd better get to class," said Francine.  
  
George, Arthur, Beat, and Francine walked away, leaving Fern and Alan alone together. The two exchanged knowing smiles.  
  
"What do you say, Fern?" Alan suggested. "After school, I'll treat you to a sundae at the Sugar Bowl."  
  
Fern grinned eagerly. "Sure, I'd like that. But I hope you're not being nice to me because you're afraid I'll haunt your dreams."  
  
Alan accompanied Fern on her way to Mr. Wald's room. "Actually, I sort of enjoyed being you in my dream," he admitted. "That is, until the point where I broke my heart."  
  
When they reached the classroom entrance, Fern went inside while Alan walked in the direction of Mr. Baker's room. To Fern's surprise, Principal Haney was standing in front of the assembled pupils along with Mr. Wald.  
  
"What's going on?" she asked.  
  
Mr. Haney turned to her. "Fern, do you know anything at all about Muffy Crosswire's whereabouts?"  
  
"No," Fern answered. "She should be at Uppity Downs, right?"  
  
"No one has seen Muffy since yesterday afternoon," the principal informed her. "Since she came here on Monday against her parents' wishes, we think she may be hiding out here, so we're searching the school."  
  
Fern's mind began to race. Every logical path she followed led to the same obvious conclusion.  
  
"She ran away."  
  
Mr. Haney looked at her quizzically. "What?"  
  
"You were there when her dad hit her. The Muffy I know wouldn't take that kind of abuse. I think she ran away from home."  
  
"If that's true, then she'll be back as soon as she gets hungry," said the principal.  
  
"Not Muffy," Francine chimed in. "She's got credit cards."  
  
"Maybe she ran away with an adult," Fern suggested. "Someone who also had a reason to skip town. Someone like..."  
  
"Like who?" inquired the principal.  
  
"Uh, never mind."  
  
----  
  
"Fern's right," remarked Francine as she and Beat wandered through the playground during morning recess. "Muffy's always been pampered and spoiled. She could burn down the school and her parents would just lecture her. But now her dad's started to hit her."  
  
"I can't blame her," said Beat. "If my parents took that tack with me, I would..." She stopped and pointed toward a large group of children who had gathered. "What's going on there?"  
  
Francine scanned the crowd, and noticed that Binky and Molly were standing on opposite ends of the mob, posturing threateningly. "It's a fight!" she squealed with joy. "Come on, Beat, let's watch!"  
  
As Francine grabbed her by the arm and dragged her along, Beat protested in vain. "I...I think we should just tell the principal..."  
  
The two girls took positions at the back of the crowd, and found it difficult to see because of the many taller children in front of them. Most of the Tough Customers were present, along with many of Francine's friends.  
  
"Come on, Binky!" cheered Sue Ellen, who was standing at the head of the mob. "You can beat her!"  
  
"Go, Binky!" yelled Jenna.  
  
"You da man, Molly!" cried many of the Tough Customers.  
  
Beat shook her head with disgust. "This would never happen at Uppity Downs," she said haughtily.  
  
Molly wore a pair of blue jeans with even more holes than her usual pair, and her hair was unruly and tangled. She raised her muscular arms and growled menacingly at Binky, who flexed his biceps and growled back. Both had removed their winter coats and draped them over the bars of the jungle gym.  
  
Self-appointed referee Rattles gave the signal for the fight to start. Binky and Molly started to circle each other, glowering and hissing. Binky drew back his fist to deliver a first punch...  
  
...when a girl's pleading cry suddenly rang out. "Stop the fight!"  
  
Binky and Molly marveled, and the spectators groaned, when Mavis Cutler appeared from nowhere and stood between the combatants. She was breathing heavily, as if she had just run a long distance.  
  
She turned to Binky, for the moment ignoring Molly. "I didn't really want you to fight Molly," she told him. "It was just a joke. I never imagined you would actually go through with it."  
  
"Get out of the way, Mavis," Binky growled. "I'm gonna earn that kiss from you, one way or another."  
  
Molly gaped and dropped her fists when she heard Binky's words. "Kiss? What kiss? What are you talking about?"  
  
"I told Binky I'd kiss him if he fought you," Mavis explained to her.  
  
Molly clenched her teeth and began to tremble. Then she exploded in rage.  
  
"Binky Barnes, you no-good son of a... I thought this fight was about me! After all this time I thought you finally cared! But no! All you want is to get a kiss from some floozy! You worthless wad of scum! Don't ever ask me to fight you again!"  
  
Then the angry rabbit girl placed her hands over the hair covering her eyes, burst into anguished sobs, and ran away from the crowd.  
  
As the assembled kids murmured, grumbled, and dispersed, Mavis turned to face Binky again. "Bend over, you big lug," she ordered.  
  
"Oh, no." Binky put his hands out. "I'm not kissing you until I've earned it. I've got to do something brave. Something noble. Yeah, noble. Then you can call me Barnes the Noble."  
  
"You came to me and apologized," said Mavis. "That was noble enough."  
  
They gazed at each other for about fifteen seconds, and then Mavis' words finally penetrated Binky's thick skull.  
  
He bent over.  
  
(Next chapter: What about Beat?) 


	18. Beat Gets Her Wish

Thursday afternoon arrived, and with it the long-awaited meeting between Beat Simon and the proprietors of Uppity Downs Academy. The girl was riding with her parents in the yellow sedan that Roger had purchased after his used Crosswire car had fallen apart after only two weeks.  
  
"I hope we're going the right way," said Mr. Simon, who could see nothing on either side of the road except barren trees.  
  
"According to the directions, we are," responded Mrs. Simon, who sat in the passenger seat clutching a map she had printed from the Internet.  
  
"Are we there yet, Mum?" asked Beat from the back seat. "I have to go to the toilet."  
  
After about five more minutes of seemingly aimless driving through snow-covered forest, they saw a stone fence with a metal gate on the right side. The number on the fence was the same as the street number on the map. "This must be it," said Mr. Simon as he pulled the car to the side of the road.  
  
All three climbed out of the car and approached the tall fence. Through the gate they could see a cement pathway leading through a vast lawn to a fabulous-looking mansion. Beat noticed that the name Putnam was inscribed on the top of the metal gate.  
  
Mr. Simon pressed a white button by the side of the gate. Moments later a nearby speaker started to crackle, and a man's voice emitted from it: "State your business."  
  
"We're the Simons," Roger responded. "We have an appointment with Mr. Putnam."  
  
After a few seconds of silence, the voice from the speaker said, "Proceed."  
  
A buzzing sound indicated that the gate had been unlocked. Mr. Simon pushed it open, and he started along the pathway with his wife and daughter.  
  
"This is like the Wizard of Oz," Beat remarked.  
  
"Mr. Crosswire should pay them a visit," Mrs. Simon suggested. "Perhaps they could give him a heart."  
  
After roughly twenty minutes spent in three different lavishly furnished waiting rooms, the three guests were hailed by a finely dressed manservant. "Mr. Putnam will see you now," he announced.  
  
The Simons stepped through the carved wooden door and found themselves in the largest, grandest room they had yet seen. A half-crafted chandelier hung from the ceiling, the walls were lined with shelves containing thousands of books, and there were granite statues of women in each corner.  
  
At the other end of the vast room sat a huge red-stained desk, and behind the desk sat an old man wearing a brown suit and tie. The man was mostly bald, with a wrinkled, dog-like face and ears like a monkey's. "Come in," he called, gesturing toward Beat and her parents. "Don't be bashful."  
  
They walked slowly across the room, admiring the architecture and catching an occasional familiar book title. Finally they arrived in front of the old man's desk. The man bent over and peered at Beat. "Beatrice," he mumbled with a smile.  
  
"Call me Beat, sir," was the response.  
  
"You can call her Beatrice if you like, Mr. Putnam," said Mr. Simon.  
  
With great effort, the old man pushed himself out of his chair and trudged around the desk. He placed his hand on top of Beat's head and stroked her hair, then ran his fingers along her ears. Finally, he grabbed her by the chin and jerked her head back and forth slightly. Letting go, he muttered, "Oh, yes, you'll do nicely."  
  
Beat reached up and tried to straighten her hair. "Begging your pardon, sir," she asked innocently, "but would you mind telling us how you became so rich?"  
  
Beat's parents scowled at her. Mr. Putnam chuckled pleasantly.  
  
"Not at all." The old man sat down on the corner of his desk. "I'm an inventor. When I was young I had a head full of ideas. Do you know what to do when there's an idea in your head? You work and work and work until it becomes a reality. And that's what I had to do for half of my life. I worked and worked and worked, until my inventions won me fame and fortune. After that, I didn't have to work anymore." He laughed. "But I do! Because I still have ideas in my head!"  
  
"I have ideas in my head, too," said Beat.  
  
Mr. Putnam chuckled with delight. "Oh, I'm sure you do. I understand you're the best in your class. Perfect marks in everything. Yes, I can use someone like you at my school. Follow me."  
  
The old man walked slowly and creakily toward one of the bookshelves, as Beat and her parents followed. He reached into a shelf and seemed to pull a lever, upon which part of the wall receded and slid open, much to Beat's surprise.  
  
They now stood in a doorway that led into what appeared to be a small laboratory. All of the tables were filled with electronic equipment and cluttered with scientific instruments. The drab, windowless walls were covered with pictures of design diagrams and circuit schematics. A horse woman wearing a casual blouse and skirt sat on a metal stool, manipulating the dials on an oscilloscope. She turned to Beat and said, "Oh, it's the new girl."  
  
"This is Christina," said Mr. Putnam to the Simons. "One of my top scientists. She's a graduate of Uppity Downs."  
  
"My pleasure," said Christina politely.  
  
"Christina, this is Beat Simon," said the old man, gesturing toward the girl. He then turned to Beat's parents. "In exchange for your daughter's enrollment at my school, I ask only that she participate in a scientific experiment."  
  
"That's it?" said Mrs. Simon incredulously. "There must be a catch. What are the risks involved?"  
  
"The risks are virtually negligible," Mr. Putnam answered. "Tell me, has your daughter shown any evidence of sensitivity to strobe lights?"  
  
"No," Mrs. Simon replied.  
  
"Excellent," said Putnam.  
  
The horse woman began to speak. "The experiment consists of subjecting your child to a series of rapidly changing color patterns. If she were sensitive to strobe lights or other forms of extreme lighting changes, then there would be an extremely small chance of long-term psychological damage."  
  
"And what's the purpose of this?" asked Mr. Simon.  
  
"It's a new way of learning," the scientist replied. "We believe it will revolutionize the process of education."  
  
Mr. Simon turned to his wife. "What do you think, Penny?"  
  
"It seems a bit far-fetched to me," Mrs. Simon answered. "But if it gets her into Uppity Downs, and the risks are small, then I can see no reason..."  
  
"Thank you, Mum!" cried Beat, smiling gratefully.  
  
The horse woman held out a clipboard with a sheet of paper attached. "All we need in order to go forward is your signatures on this legal waiver. It simply states that you understand the risks, and that we can't be held responsible for any psychological damage. Of course, we're not expecting any."  
  
Mr. Simon took the clipboard, and he and his wife started to read the print. Meanwhile, Beat hopped impatiently, crying, "Sign it! Sign it!"  
  
"Very well," Mr. Simon finally said. "We'll sign."  
  
Ten minutes later, in another windowless room, Beat and Mr. Putnam were lying flat on a pair of adjustable medical beds. Both had large black visors attached to their faces, covering their eyes. Each visor was connected to wires that led into the back of a personal computer, into which Christina was typing instructions.  
  
As she worked, Putnam was carrying on a friendly conversation with Beat. "So, who is your favorite classical composer?" he asked her.  
  
"Oh, I just love Rachmaninov," the girl replied. "So romantic and passionate."  
  
"He's my favorite, too," said Putnam.  
  
"We're ready," Christina announced. "Beat, I want you to hold your eyes open for the next five seconds, and not blink."  
  
"Okay," said Beat.  
  
Christina pressed a button, and the darkness of Beat's visor was suddenly replaced with the most vivid display of colors and shapes that she had ever witnessed. Images flashed by at incredible speed, more quickly than her brain could seize hold of a pattern. Her mind seemed to advance to an altered level of awareness, as if knowledge was pouring in and she was able to absorb it all. It lasted for only five seconds, but it felt like a lifetime...  
  
Christina loosened the straps on Beat's visor and removed it. The girl sat up and looked around the room curiously. She lifted her hands to her head, felt her nose, felt her hair, felt her ears. Turning to Mr. Putnam, whose visor had also been removed, she smiled glowingly.  
  
"Congratulations, Mr. Putnam," she said without a trace of English accent. "It's a girl."  
  
Minutes later she emerged through the doorway leading into the laboratory, accompanied by the slow-moving Putnam. "Mum, Dad, it was a success," she told her parents as the moving wall section closed behind them.  
  
"What do you mean, a success?" asked Beat's mother.  
  
"Christina has this wonderful device," Beat explained, speaking with an English accent once again. "She asked me a question and I didn't know the answer to it. Then she put the device on my eyes and turned it on, and asked me the question again, and I knew the answer."  
  
"Interesting," Mr. Simon remarked. "I'd like to know more about this device. It sounds like a marvelous time-saver."  
  
"The technology is still in its infancy," said Mr. Putnam, "but with your daughter enrolled in my school, you will be among the first to be made aware of its progress."  
  
"Did you hear that, Beat?" said Roger, crouching down to look his daughter in the face. "You're getting your wish. You're going to Uppity Downs."  
  
"Yes, it's lovely, isn't it?" Beat responded in an unusually mature voice.  
  
"You're getting smarter already," Mrs. Simon noted. "You said 'isn't it' instead of 'innit'."  
  
"One final note before you leave," said Mr. Putnam. "I'd rather keep this a secret, lest all the children in Elwood City should want to take the experiment and get a free ride. Therefore, you must tell no one the truth about who is paying your daughter's tuition."  
  
"What should we tell them, then?" asked Mr. Simon.  
  
"Oh, just make up something," Putnam replied. "You could tell them, for example, that it's due to a stipulation in her late uncle's will."  
  
THE END (for now...) 


End file.
